Confirmation that I really am (or at least want to be) a big loser

March 31, 2008 By

I was just cruising through my latest blog entries and realized there has been a noticeable drop in my regularity lately. On posting, that is (lest you think I am discussing my bathroom habits again).

There are a number of reasons for this:

1) I have been working on some new projects at Mile High Mamas and have been slammed with Mother’s Day preps and giveaways.

2) It has been Spring Break and I have had to deal with a Hurricane on a full-time basis.

3) You seem to be posting less as well. Is it just me or do you write less when you have fewer comments? Just curious.

4) (And most importantly) My monitor is really dirty so I have been unable to vainly gaze back at myself as I type.

One of the new projects I have been working on is ME! Huhhhhhh? I enrolled a couple of weeks ago in a kick-butt outdoor adventure boot camp and am loving it. My original intention was to do just one post about it but soon became inspired by the whole experience. I have expressed frustrations here about how the rest of that Baby Weight is just not budging. Imagine my delight to discover I added muchos Fruitcake Weight over the holidays.

The crazy thing is I don’t even like fruitcake….

So, here’s the project (drum roll, please): I am going to lose weight through the boot camp’s Biggest Loser Club and write about my progress every week on Mile High Mamas. I have the newspaper’s backing and online and print reefers to publicize the whole thing.

Talk about accountability? Just a little!

So, I need your support, encouragement and advice. Come watch me or join on in. I need all the help I can get! Just don’t post all those delectably tempting recipes on your blogs.

Unless they involve lettuce.

For the start of the journey, tune into Mile High Mamas today!

==================

I have survived my first two weeks of boot camp. No, this maple-leaf-pledging Canuck did not join the American troops but I have ventured out on a new kind of workout and weight-loss program. The kind I hope will not only kick butt but will reduce my protruding one.

Do you know those women whose pounds just seem to magically melt away after giving birth? I am not among them. Following my first pregnancy, I lost most of the weight but after baby No. 2, it is still clinging to me like a blood-sucking leech. Too bad they don’t do fat.

I have participated in a number of great mommy and me exercise classes, most of which I highly recommend. But this time, I needed something different; I needed to focus only on myself to get back on track.

Enter: Front Range Adventure Boot Camp for Women. The program originated out of Orange County, CA and is a part of the largest fitness boot camp in the world. Well, daunting Canadian marine corps notwithstanding.

I was thrilled to begin my four-week outdoor fitness program, nutritional counseling and motivational training. As I was leaving for my first day of class, my husband called out,

“Have fun!”
“This is boot camp, Jamie. I am not supposed to have fun.”
“Well, don’t cry, then.”
“That’s better.”

And it is so much better than any workout I have ever done. Instead of being submitted to the drudgery of the stairmaster or weight machines, the program takes everyday objects and uses them as tools. We have done everything from hill training to park-playing to racing up a half-pipe to playing dodge ball. And I am having the time of my life with this cohesive group of women who are already making extracurricular plans to go backpacking and scale 14ers this summer.

Rest assured, it ain’t all fun and games. The first class was the longest hour of my life and the next day, I unearthed muscles I never knew I had. How did I discover them? Simple: I could not move them.

Robyn Morrisette is our lean, buff, butt-kicking machine. She is motivating but not annoying. Tough but fair. But overall, she is an inspiration. She left her longtime career in the corporate world to become a Certified Life Coach and now whips people’s butts into shape on a full-time basis. I feel a kinship to her because I did the same thing.

Only mine is called motherhood.

Join Amber on her journey – and butt whipping – over the next few months. Starting next Friday, Amber will be documenting her successes and setbacks every single week in Boot Camp’s Biggest Loser Club. Amber can also be found blogging about it at Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Uncategorized

Testing the Limits in Bryce Canyon National Park

March 29, 2008 By

Originally published in Sports Guide magazine, 2002. Photo: Johan Elenga

A recent weekend in Bryce Canyon National Park was all about limits. I tested the limits of my friendship with accomplice Kristy by dragging her all over the park and then persuading her to compete with me in an archery biathlon.

Never mind that she had never been cross-country skiing before.

She tested the limits of her friendship with me during the five-hour drive to Bryce, when I had to roll down the windows for much of the chilly February drive thanks to her garlic pizza dinner. Our hotel room had to undergo a similar de-fumigation process.

We were going to Bryce Canyon’s annual Winter Festival. The three-day festival
includes free clinics, demos, and tours in cross-country skiing, snowshoeing, archery, ski archery, photography, and ski waxing. The event is usually held over President’s Day weekend but had been bumped up a few weeks to accommodate the Olympic Torch Relay.

I was ecstatic. Bryce Canyon National Park’s pillars, hoodoos, and fin-like ridges are stunning enough during the summer months. But in winter, they erupt from the rim of the Paunsaugunt Plateau in a fiery display set against the cold white snow.

This high elevation park is also Utah’s smallest with an area of only 56-square miles. Best of all was the absence of the tourists who flood the park every year beginning in May. Park rangers assert that Bryce averages around 100 visitors on any given weekday and rarely more than 250 on the weekends during the off-season. The park’s elevation reaches as high as 9,115 feet, and the resulting snows scare off the fair-weather tourists from November through April.

Archery 101

We dove into the Winter Festival that afternoon, starting with the archery clinic. Our instructor was Eric Quilter, a member of the U.S. Archery Biathlon Team. Quilter had been involved in the cross-country ski circuit for years but shot his first bow at the Utah Winter Games only two ago. He soon started to compete in the Archery Biathlon, a blend of cross-country skiing and target archery. The event consists of a 6- to 12-kilometer ski course with several stops at the targets. Scoring is a combination of ski time and shooting points.

Quilter explained that in the real race, a simple “hit-or-miss” style target is used at an 18-meter distance from the racers. Our target was thankfully a huge bulls-eye with concentric rings that was in much closer proximity. He walked us through archery’s basics— everything from eye dominance, to brace-height, to stance.

Quilter then asked for volunteers. Never one to shun a shot at public humiliation, I started to step forward. “How about we start with the burliest in the group?” he quipped.

I stepped back. My daunting 5’4” frame topped with curly strawberry-blonde hair didn’t exactly constitute burly. But when a couple of wiry teenage boys stepped up, I figured I was in the running and joined them. I somehow thought my success (or lack of failure) qualified Kristy and me to take it to the next level: the archery biathlon. Kristy called it insane and at first, refused. She had never been on cross-country skis and didn’t believe me when I said it was “all in good fun.”  I finally convinced her to join me.

Cross-Country Skiing 201

We participated in a ski clinic early the next morning so Kristy did not have to race cold turkey. Our R.E.I. instructor taught our group of five the basics and then let us loose on the groomed Great Western Trail. I had grown up cross-country skiing on the flat golf course behind my house, and I figured 25 years of alpine skiing would have some bearing upon my skills. I forgot I thought the same thing when I took up water-skiing, when I had quickly learned otherwise.

Kristy did better than most of our group, which instilled a false sense of confidence. We eventually connected with over 50 kilometers of cross-country ski track that Ruby’s Inn Nordic Center grooms for classical and skating techniques. The trail winds through meadows and forests to the rim of Bryce Canyon. Some of the trials interconnect with ski-set trails inside the national park. The scenery was stunning and best of all, there was no track fee at Ruby’s.

Graduate-level Biathlon

We met for the race at 11 a.m. I surveyed the competition. There were many serious biathletes in the group. And then there was Kristy and me.

Eric relayed the rules. The children and youth would race first and start in 30-second increments. The race for the adults would not start until the completion of the previous races. Our biathlon consisted of six laps around the track. After the first two laps, we would stop at the archery range, shoot, and continue for another couple of laps repeating the process. We would shoot a total of nine arrows at three different times.

I was initially disappointed when I discovered there was a separate youth division but then I noted that Eric’s four young boys, all excellent skiers, were also racing. I decided it was best we had separate divisions—there’s nothing like having your butt kicked by a five-year-old.

I got realistic and decided upon two goals: to not wipe-out while skiing, and to hit the target every time. Bulls-eye was an added bonus.


I was slated third to start the race. Eric went first and I was at the line 60 seconds later. I started strong. With all my amateur archery biathlete might, I forged forward, relishing every stride. And then Eric passed me. On my first lap. I shook it off—I mean, the guy was on the U.S. National Team. But then another competitor passed me, and then another.

I conceded that the majority of the field outclassed me. I vowed to ski my own race and started taking notes. Most archery biathletes made use of the “skating” technique, which is generally faster than the traditional diagonal stride (“classic”) style of skiing I was using. No wonder they were able to pass me so effortlessly.

Oh, and also because I was slow.

By the time I finished lap two and skied up to the range, I was panting heavily. I grabbed the bow. It bobbed up and down like a ship on a tempestuous sea. I had not taken into account that I would be shooting under such conditions. Regardless, I somehow tamed the tempest and hit the target every time.

Like a masochist, I repeated the process two more times and completed four more laps with two stops at the range. I was exhausted when I finally crossed the finish line but my spirits were lifted when my supporters cheered me on.

OK, most of them were Winter Festival volunteers who were supposed to be there but hey, fans are fans.

I ran to the edge of the track to watch Kristy’s race. It wasn’t pretty. I mean, she should have won the rookie of the race award: first time on skis, first time shooting a bow, and first time in a biathlon. And her finish was spectacular. She made her final shots, turned toward the finish line and face planted. She somehow crawled across the line, leaving a trail of her sunglasses, hat, and gloves. She laughed.

Until she saw me.

Her look of death confirmed my worst fears. And at that moment in Bryce Canyon National Park, I realized I had surpassed the limits of friendship—a limit that no amount of belching garlic pizza could ever match.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Humor, Olympics, outdoors, skiing, travel Tagged With:

Colorado Spring Breakin’!

March 27, 2008 By

I assure you that I am indeed alive! It is Spring Break for the Canuck clan, which really doesn’t mean much because Hadley only goes to preschool two days a week. We had planned a trip to Utah but stayed home because of Jamie’s consulting gig. And because it just didn’t feel right.

What? A trip that didn’t feel right for a traveling junkie? Maybe feeling those nine hours in the car with the children had something everything to do with it.

The temperatures have been beautiful in Colorado and we have been hiking almost daily. Bode even did his first trek sans backpack and darned if he wasn’t the cutest little mountain man.

Hadley has really come into her own on the trail and on Saturday, we did a 1.5-mile loop through Red Rocks. And Jamie and I could not have been more thrilled.

Which begs the question: how do you feel about your children sharing your interests? Do you push them to do it?

For the most part, I really don’t care if my children excel at volleyball, roller-blading or nose blowing (particularly since I have already made millionaires out of Kleenex Co.) But I am fully invested in instilling a love for the outdoors because it transcends a mere interest into a lifestyle. And I am so glad they are both openly embracing it.

In many ways, Hadley is the mirror image of me and our similarities were no more prevalent than last summer when the kids and I had a picnic with my MIL Linda and Jamie’s sister Tammy. After we polished off our food, Hadley downed a cream-cheese brownie and asked Linda for more.

Linda: May I give her another one?

Me: Sure but make it a small one.

She cut it in half and proceeded to give it to The Hurricane.

Me: Hadley, Grandma just gave you that nice brownie. What do you say?

Hadley: I WANT A BIG ONE!

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Colorado, Humor, outdoors

How you know your Easter festivities have sunk to a new low

March 25, 2008 By

You are one of only a few families invited to a friend’s Easter egg hunt where they stuffed about 1,000 eggs and hid them all over their huge backyard.

You know you have sunk to a new low when:

1) A certain father shadows his daughter around the yard. When her bucket is full, instead of quitting like she wants, you convince her to keep hunting and completely fill your jacket full of eggs.

2) You later find your outgoing daughter, stripped down to her panties, sitting on a bed reading a book while her friends play outside.

3) When you hear there are several eggs with $2 bills inside, a certain mother shoves little children aside to shake every single egg, listening for the money.

4) All of the above.

P.S. How was YOUR Easter?

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Hadley, holidays, Humor

Mile High Mamas Monday

March 24, 2008 By

On the day many people were celebrating Jesus’ resurrection, I was celebrating death. Of my laptop, that is. Like Jesus, it has endured great injustices and abuse such as when I dumped a gallon of water on it last year.

Evidently it does not walk on water. Or even tread lightly.

For my latest episode, I prayed for a miracle and got one. Though functioning, I fear my laptop may be on its last legs and then I will be reduced to co-habitating with Jamie online. Word to the wise: the man does not share. I thought ice cream was his only vice but turns out any time taken away from the beloved plant porn on his computer is equal unto Gardener Geek Purgatory.

As I may be forced to take a temporary hiatus, you can find me over at Mile High Mamas on Monday giving the sordid details of our Easter. I have to say that stealing candy money from a baby was not one of my finer moments so make sure to tell me alllll about yours!

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Uncategorized

Easter is…for Inducing Ulcers in Parents

March 20, 2008 By

If “Christmas is for children,” is “Easter for competition-obsessed parents?” If so, I may have coined the new tagline of the season.

I am specifically referring to The Hunt: the time when children run cluelessly around a sea of cheap plastic eggs as parents shout obscenities about how slowly they are going.

At least that is what happened to us last week during the annual community Easter egg hunt.

Every year, Jamie holds spring training for The Easter Egg Hunt. And every year, the children fail. Really, how difficult could it be? We hold the basket while they shovel in free food. They sure didn’t have any difficulties figuring out the Halloween begging ritual. So what’s the deal with little plastic eggs?

Plenty. Unfortunately for us, they resemble balls (as Bode has explained to us in no uncertain terms as he hurled them in the air last weekend). Hadley had the same obsession. When she was barely talking, she practiced her sports savvy by reciting the different techniques: “Soccer–KICK! Basketball–THROW!!” It was like she was feverishly cramming for a final exam and if she flunked she wouldn’t get into ESPN heaven.

I still remember Hadley’s first community Easter egg hunt when she was almost 2. My competition-obsessed husband carried her to the start of the hunt, all the while massaging her “hammies” to ensure her legs were in superior working order. He then instructed her on the fine art of grabbing and [if necessary] stealing. Gotta prepare her for the harsh realities of life, he reasoned.

The hunt was strategically located in a playground…the perfect locale for any kid who lacked focus and drive. Haddie was one of those kids. “Slide! Swing! Swim!” she kept longingly pointing out. “FOCUS!” we kept drilling into her but you’d think she was almost 2 or something–all she wanted to do was play.

She was up on the slide when the hunt commenced, typical of someone lacking in commitment. Jamie grabbed her and threw her into the competition. She had tried to grab a few eggs before the start but when it came time, she just froze like a bunny in headlights. When she finally got her nerve up, she bent over and rocketed an egg across the field of play as the other kids flocked around.

Desperately, I started shoveling eggs towards her. “Pick them up!” We were losing. But she didn’t care. Within minutes, all the “pretty balls” were gone. And all we had to show for the hunt were a few eggs filled with crappy Tootsie Rolls and Smarties; the least they could have done was award our efforts with chocolate.

And eggs that looked a lot less like balls.

Not that Hadley complained. In fact, she even requested they have basketball hoops the next year.

Just to increase the level of difficulty, of course.
© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Uncategorized

Canuck Clan Profundities

March 19, 2008 By

[Setting: Date night for the Canuck parents. Driving hurriedly down the freeway so as not to miss our appointment.]

Cue the music.

Jamie: Don’t let me forget to change my tail light tomorrow. Someone told me it is out.

Amber: No problem, my loving, hunka hunka hunka hubby of burning love (or something like that.)

Not even five minutes later, Jamie encounters a state trooper on the freeway and moves to pass him.

Amber: Err… Jamie? Do state troopers pull people over for broken tail lights?

Jamie: I’m not sure.

Jamie brazenly passes him. The trooper fires up the siren and turns on the lights.

Jamie: I guess that would be a “Yes.”

[Fade music, dim the lights. Or would that be another kind of dim?...]

******************************************

Getting Hadley dressed and out the door in the morning can be likened unto banging your head against a wall. With thorns. Though she has gotten somewhat better lately, brushing her hair is still an on-going battle.

Amber: [Exasperated after a 10-minute battle] Do you want me to cut your hair off all short and ugly like Bode and Daddy’s? (No offense intended for anyone with short hair).

Hadley: NOOOOOOO!

Amber: Then let me brush your hair!

Hadley: It hurts too much! I don’t want you to ever brush it again!

Amber: I am doing it as softly as I can. Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t brush your hair.

Hadley: Well, you don’t brush yours.

Touché.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Uncategorized

Near-death drama

March 17, 2008 By

It has been 12 years since the day I almost died.

I seldom reflect upon it anymore, nor have I really written about it. Well, except for when I poured out my soul for an essay contest in college, only to win an honorable mention. I suspect I would have taken first if I’d have actually died. Nothing like tales from the crypt….

Memories of my accident came back to haunt me in consuming flashes last week on our way home from a trip. A semi-truck did not see our SUV and changed into our lane. I do not want to think what would have happened if my husband had not been quick to react. Shaking, I looked over to the right-hand side of the car at my sweet boy who would have received the brunt of the impact. Once again, I was reminded of what a simple blessing it is to be alive.

It was March 1996 and my friend Heidi and I planned to ski at Park City Mountain Resort. I was the Executive Director of PR for our student government and had been heavily promoting this student-sanctioned ski day. And so what better way to publicize it than to skip school and do it?

I had intended to clean out my car but didn’t have time so we threw our skis in the backseat and grabbed some fast food instead. We were driving on the I-15 gabbing away when we encountered a slow-moving semi truck in the middle lane. The left-hand lane was blocked, so without hesitation I moved to pass the semi in the right lane.

That was when it happened.

Without seeing us, the semi changed into my lane, sending us reeling across the three lanes of traffic into the median. We bounced off it in a deadly pinball game, only to land underneath the back tires of the truck. It proceeded to run over the backseat of my car and spew us back out onto the median.

This is the account the witnesses gave. My experience was very different. I felt the initial impact and knew we were spinning. But then there was light. It wasn’t something that I saw but rather, it was something that penetrated me to my core. I lived an eternity in those few seconds that I could never even try to describe other than to say I have never felt so divinely protected.

When we finally stopped, there was a long pause as we sat in stunned silence. I chose to break it.

“Heidi, I don’t think we’re going skiing today.” Hilarity ensued. We surveyed the damage. The semi’s tire tracks were merely three inches from my seat, completely destroying the back of the car where our skis were located.

“I’m sure glad I didn’t clean my car today.” More laughter.

Within moments, a trauma nurse and police officer were on the scene. “These girls are delirious,” they prescribed.

I didn’t have heart to tell him we were always like that.

Eventually, they had to call in the jaws of life to get us out. We were rushed to the hospital and were miraculously given a clean bill of health.

Well, minus some inevitable bruises and whiplash. The next day when I was limping around my apartment, someone asked how I was doing.

I looked pointedly at them before blithely replying, “I feel like I’ve been run over by a semi.”

Duh. :-)

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Favorite Posts, issues

What are your dreams?

March 13, 2008 By

No, I’m not talking about someday having that nice house with a picket fence or being able to fit into a size five again. I am talking about when your head hits that pillow, what are you dreaming about? Do you remember your dreams? Have you ever pondered their interpretation?

I have very vivid dreams every night. A few times they have translated into gripping nightmares or deeply spiritual experiences. One night, I dreamed about my friend’s ailing mother whom I had never met. The dream was so lucid that I woke up in the middle of the night to drop him an email, letting him know I was thinking about them. I found out the next morning his mom had passed away at the same time as my dream.

Before you think I am some kind of soothsayer, let me assure you that most of the time, my dreams follow the same pattern: psychosis. And poor Jamie gets to hear allllll about them them in the morning.

There was that captivating dream when I rode to a desert island in a shark’s mouth. Or those many times I dreamed I was knocked up at BYU and was stressed because I could not get a date. Go figure.

But my most reoccurring dream is driving me nuts. I have had it in some version at least five times per week for the past few years: I am in my last semester of college with finals looming before me and I realize I have forgotten to go to class the entire semester.

Have you ever had a regular dream where you F-R-E-A-K O-U-T? That is me, running in circles, crazed that I will not graduate and trying to cram four months of work into a few days. Is it not enough that I live like this during the day but does it have to translate to nighttime, too?

It has been bugging me so much that I finally googled “dream interpretations” the other day. And do you know what I pieced together?

To dream that you forgot to attend a class you signed up for, indicates your anxieties and fear of failing. You may also be lacking self-confidence in your ability to handle new responsibilities or projects.

Gee. And I just thought it was a sign that maybe I should have gotten my Master’s Degree after all. :-)

So, what are your interpretations, oh Dream Senseis? What are you dreamin’ about and what do you think it means?

Editor’s Note: Angie left me the following comment:

I used to have that exact same kind of dream! I had it for years — high school, undergrad, masters — seriously, years!

Then, one time I read in a magazine that the psychologist writing the article said that he always calls it “the overachievers dream.” He said that the only people that have that kind of dream are the people that would never, ever let that happen in real life.

I will take her anal retentive overachiever interpretation over obsessive failure any day. :-)

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Uncategorized

Hunky Hubby: the negotiating genius

March 11, 2008 By
I have had several inquiries regarding how Jamie’s job search is going. I have been unsure how to respond to them because we are on hold. He had two companies who came to him, saying they want to bring him on-board. But these two companies also need to firm up financing prior to extending an official offer.

It is a different world now but the prospects are so much brighter for Jamie. For so long, he was bound to a job and company that had absolutely no vision for what the Internet can do. Last week, he went to a networking meeting and came home on fire with all the innovative, creative ideas that were shared. He wants to be on the cutting edge and that is what would happen with either of these companies.

One of them has been trying to hire him since October but is still in negotiations to finalize a lucrative contract in order to do so. Last week, they hired Jamie as a consultant on another project and told him to name his rate. We vacillated back and forth. We wanted to aim fairly high but not overshoot it. Jamie came up with $50 an hour.

Jamie: “I was thinking $50 an hour….”

Employer: “How about $65?”

Jamie: “…but that is my final offer.”

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Humor, Jamie
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