Run.

If you refer to my post entitled 'Namaste', you'll know that after a bout with gymnastics, a rather self-righteous instructor told my parents to put me in another sport. My apparent lack of hand-eye coordination, coupled with a rather insatiable amount of energy I carried around was what likely led my parents to toss a pair of running sneakers at me and instruct me to "just run". I happily obliged, mostly because by fourth grade I was taller and faster than pretty much all the boys, and beating them into oblivion has to be the most rewarding activity for any 10-year old.

I suppose this started my love affair with running. To say I've come a long way since sprinting around the parking lot of St. Andrew's is an understatement. Over the last two decades, running and I have certainly had our ups and downs and ins and outs. We have broken up and gotten back together many times. While it has been my rock and constant support, it has also been a source of pain and agony. It has sent me running into the arms of spinning, who always gets the job done, yet is totally incomparable at the same time.

Several years after I started running, I ran into a former, rather snarly, high school track coach. His words were enough to catapult me into marathon training."You were always a decent athlete, but could never run distances," he mumbled. Telling a runner they can't do something, as you might imagine, never does bode too well.

Clearly, running has humbled me, but it has also made me realize my limits were mostly self-imposed. Running doesn't care how you look or how fast you go or how old you are. While I'll never win any races, and my pace rivals that of a child learning to crawl, the road has never told me it matters.

Running and I have seen each other through some tough times. Some great times too. But it's been there. Whenever I needed it. At times when I didn't. At times when I shouldn't. Running is one of those things that just shows up for me. I can go back to it. I can lean on it. And I can trust it will never try to tell me what kind of athlete I really am.

By the way, I finished that marathon. I did another one, too, just to stick it to that coach.

Keep Climbing,

ELD

Tasty-Yum-Yums

One of the things I love most about cooking is taking otherwise artery-clogging treats and making them somewhat healthy without sacrificing taste. When my dear cousin Beth came over for a dinner party toting these bacon-wrapped piles of goodness, exclaiming, "because everything is better when it's wrapped in bacon!", I knew I had struck gold.

Beth calls these coiled pieces of heaven "Tasty-Yum-Yums" as an homage to a friend of hers, who, after tasting them, immediately formed the same obsession with them as I did. This dish, served mainly as hors d'ouvres, are simple, fast, low-fat (though they taste nothing of the sort), and are an instant favorite.

Ingredients:

• 1-lb Turkey Bacon (regular bacon is what the recipe calls for, but turkey is a great substitute if you're in the mood for it)


• Low fat or Fat-free cream cheese with chives


• 1-loaf Peperidge Farm white bread

How to:

• Cut each piece of bread in half the long way and cut off the crusts. Spread a layer of cream cheese on each


• Roll each piece of bread into a circle


• Cut each piece of bacon in half and wrap one around the bread. Secure with a toothpick.

Toss them on a cookie sheet and place them in the oven for 20-22 minutes at 400-degrees.

Yes, it's that easy. And yes, it's that good.

Bon Appetit.

Keep Climbing,

ELD

Namaste.

I wouldn't say I was exactly built for yoga. Thanks to genetics, my hamstrings likely resemble steel cables rather than stretchy fibrous tissue. Thanks to years of hauling Catholic-school backpacks, my upper back and shoulders are slightly rotated forward, and thanks to a serious pension for high-heels and a love for pounding the pavement, my hips are all sorts of cockeyed.

Needless to say, I'm not all that limber, a quality I always assumed was necessary to participate in a yoga class and not look like a fool. After all, your beloved Climber was actually kicked out of gymnastics class at the ripe age of 7. "Mr. and Mrs. D, I think your daughter would be more well-suited for another sport, perhaps."

After that ego blow, I had no desire to enter a class that would feature people twisting and turning and bending and curling, until I realized the following:

• The baseline principles of yoga are not associated with flexibility, and,
• I was really just making excuses.

For years, I had somewhat of a Hollywood romance with yoga. On-again, off-again, love-hate-love. I've actually always loved yoga, but for the aforementioned "reasons" never actually stuck with it. It was only until I started looking at yoga as a means to mend, strengthen, and nourish my body, rather than a flexibility contest, that I finally was able to commit to the practice.

If you've never tried a class, take it from someone who will likely always be a novice: yoga will help develop your mind, lengthen your body and lift your spirits. Unlike so many other forms of exercise, it probably won't put undue force on your joints; you will not be asked to catch anything, nor will you be expected to balance on a beam. No one cares whether you can do a back bend and you won't be a better person if you can bring your foot over your head. Yoga does not judge and it doesn't critique. Yoga exists to make you connect your body with your mind to make them a powerful, united force.

And I guarantee the instructor will not tell your parents to put you in another sport.

Keep Climbing,
ELD