I'm going to be honest with you. Today, I am a little low on motivation. Instead of setting the alarm last night, I just went to sleep. Matt was still glued to some article he'd been reading for a while and I just passed out. I had no excuse—it's not like we even had sex.

I woke up to the happy sounds of singing coming from the kids' room. They were collaborating on a new song, the lyrics of which went something like "poop" and "butt," repeated at strategic intervals (Matt tells me that was the chorus, and not the verse).

I could have quickly cut up some melon, left it on the table and snuck out for my first, easy run. I planned on starting running again today, I sooooo looked forward to it... nope. Instead, I grabbed some granola and yogurt and sank back into the pillowy warmth.

Oh well, tomorrow is Monday, I get to try again...

I am not the most intuitive athlete and certainly not at all a natural at weight lifting. I had a trainer for a while, but I can't justify paying someone to stand over me three days a week while I do two sets of fifteen over and over again. It just seems wrong. Then again, when left to my own devices, my weight-training technique becomes, shall we say, creative. I am always convinced that I have great form, only to find out months later that I am way off. So, I need plenty of guidance and direction.

A couple of months ago I picked up a book that changed everything — Strength Training Anatomy by Frederic Delavier. I love this book! The clear and precise directions are augmented by incredible anatomical illustrations, showing the proper form and the muscle groups involved. He gives plenty of information on how to avoid injuries and whether to go light or heavy. The book is broken down into seven major muscle groups: arms, shoulders, chest, back, legs, buttocks and abs. Within each muscle group are multiple exercises, with plenty of variations on each.

I am always struggling to vary my routine in order to maximize muscle development, and this book makes it so easy. My goal is to work my whole body in three days per week. Generally, I do weights on Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays. Mondays are for quads, hams, glutes and calves; on Wednesdays, I do my chest, arms and shoulders, and on Saturdays, I work my back, glutes, and inner and outer thigh. That's only three hours a week, and I am very pleased with the results.

Running. Since I am not doing any until my ligaments heal, I've been obsessing about it. I miss it. So, I've been researching. Dr. Romanov of The Pose Technique talks about the running style of the ancient athletes and barefoot running. Odd, right? Who runs barefoot? I live in New York City. Dude, I can't be running down Fifth Avenue in bare feet. I can't even run around my apartment in bare feet. Meanwhile, a part of me is thinking — how long have feet been around? As opposed to running shoes? Maybe there is something to this.

So, I Google. I find an article by Greg Downey entitled Lose your shoes: Is barefoot better?  If you are a runner, read it. I promise you, this is good stuff. I am sold and next month, I am going to try it out. When in Florida, I love running on the beach. I am ditching my shoes and will give this barefoot running thing a try. After all, it's natural, and if you know me, I'm all about that.

I love this video!

Thanksgiving… too much wine, too much food. I love to eat just as much as the next girl, but the aftermath is just too horrible to contemplate. Have you ever eaten so much that in the minutes following your last bite, you find yourself hoping for either a good vomit or a sudden, merciful death? Yeah, me too.

You know what they say: calories in = calories on your thighs. But for athletes, there's more to this story. Some of us are using this extra long weekend to train. So how do I satisfy my gluttony and still make it to the pool at eight the next morning? Food combining! Sure, there's lots to choose from on the table, and you want to eat it all, but a word to the wise — don’t. It all has to do with enzymes, and if you want to know more, use your Google fingers. Meanwhile, here are the basic rules.

At dinner, pick one of the following bullets and eat only in that category:

• protein and leafy greens
• starches and vegetables
• oil and fruit
• melon alone (yeah, I know, REALLY likely you'll choose this option for Thanksgiving dinner)
  

Stick to that and you will be good to go. Although a little bit of pumpkin pie has never hurt anyone.

Running has never been easy for me. I am not like my friend Flora, who can run endless miles with perfect form and without noticeable fatigue. I thud down the street like a Clydesdale, landing hard and feeling the vibrations travel through my body.

You see, I am a Clomper — one of a large group that boasts international membership. You can watch us at any 10K or 5K, right behind the Racers and the Runners. To the spectator, our disoriented pounding and gasping can be heard before our red, suffering faces and hunched shoulders can be seen.

I sway my hips as if I am wearing my favorite pair of Jimmy Choos, throwing my feet out at 45-degree angles. I find it impossible to focus, being easily distracted by other runners and hot guys. With my need for speed and competitive nature, my form magically becomes perfect whenever I am passed by a clearly better runner. Or a hot guy. The point is I can obviously do better.

Charles suggested the Pose running technique. Since he is my multisport hero, I ordered the book and the tape. Since I am still waiting for my ligaments to heal, this is the perfect time for me to change my running technique. I started yesterday by practicing the running pose. Simply put, it is standing on one foot while in the running pose. My sons took notice, made some comments that only a four- and a six-year-old can make ("Mommy, you look like a peacock."), then assumed the pose themselves. Now we are all learning how to run properly. I have my own running club!

Tomorrow, the Pony pose.

I am massively affected by blood sugar fluctuations (Matt will concur), and now the lack of activity from my injury seems to have the same effect on my mood. Usually, I prefer to avoid altercations, but yesterday I yelled at the front desk girl at the hotel, called a cabby several select and imaginative names, and have just been pissy in general. I desperately need a nice long swim in the pool. The simple act of moving through the water creates a serenity and euphoric happiness that even a stunning pair of stilettos can't seem to bring me these days.

I am still far from being a real swimmer, and any attempts at open water training are in the very distant future. I am thinking of getting a wetsuit and giving the open waters a shot when we go to Florida this December. I have a goal in mind: to stop being deathly afraid of everything in the unknown deep dark depths. Is that seaweed brushing against my toe or a dead body? Maybe a barracuda? I am convinced that death is imminent and panic sets in. My heart beats faster, I lose my breath, and start flailing. Panic attacks are kind of not fun for me, though they probably seem quite amusing to anyone watching from the shore.

So, here is the plan - get in deep and look for floating dead bodies. I think I will be convinced that it's safe only if I find none after looking for two weeks. Unless I do find one. But that's unlikely, right? Right?

I scoured the web for triathlon blogs and message boards until I found someone who was willing to take the time to chat with me. He had just raced in the New York Triathlon and qualified for the Lake Placid Ironman in 2010. He talked about the good, the bad and the ugly of racing in a multisport event. It did sound ugly and bad, but for some crazy reason it turned me on. So, he gave me a basic game plan to start with and wished me luck. With the shape I am in, I'm gonna need all the luck I can get...

And this brings me to the reason for this blog.

A friend lent me a "First Triathlons" book, filled with stories of, well, first triathlons. With each account, I became more and more crestfallen. These were stories of former college track and swim superstars, not beginner athletes. I could not relate to a single one. How was I ever going to measure up, let alone follow? See, it doesn't take much to discourage me.

But screw it! I don't need to place first, second or third. I don't care if I am the last one in, thirty minutes after everyone else has eaten their complimentary fruit and taken a toothy picture with their medal. I just want to limp over the finish line.

So, I am going to keep a journal of my adventure and share all that I learn along the way. Hey, I can even contribute some useful information. You see, I am a health counselor. I already know some stuff. If you hate sports, need inspiration, want to get the flab under control or just lose a few pounds, and find my story worth following, give me a shout. I need you to inspire me as well.

I just came back from an overnight trip to Boston. Chele and I wrote a great workshop about nutrient-dense foods that hit your system like a Mack truck - well, maybe not a Mack truck... that would kill you. These superfoods are like rocket fuel for your body and massively improve endurance and performance; perfect for the multisport athlete. How does "Superfoods as Performance Fuel" sound for a title? I also like "Rocket Fuel Nutrition."

Now I need to figure out where we should do the workshops. I am thinking this would be great for triathlon clubs, gyms and sporting goods stores. I wonder if JackRabbit Sports would be interested...

Can't breathe! My nose is all clogged up and I feel like I am sucking air through a straw. And to make matters worse, the thick, disgusting slime keeps slithering down my throat, so my throat is sore, too! Okay, didn't mean to be so descriptive, but this sucks!

I don't know about you, but I need to breathe in order to work out. I can't swim because the ugly, green stuff keeps creeping down and clogging up my airway. I get that panicky feeling like if I don't take another breath, I will suffocate immediately. I keep catapulting myself out of the water like a sperm whale, looking freaked out and altogether uncool.

For the next five weeks, thanks to my injured ligaments, I am on a swim/walk and vertical weight work-only regimen. I can still walk if I'm not breathing, but blowing snot all over myself is not as much fun as you would think.

The neti pot is my solution. I make my own wash from filtered water, one teaspoon of sea salt and a pinch of baking powder. I know, I know... I can buy the solution at Whole Foods, but I already make a sizable contribution to their bottom line, and money is thin these days. Besides, I already have the ingredients.

If you haven't experienced the joys of neti potting (my term, but you can use it) before, you have got to try it! At first, it's like you are six and at the beach with your irresponsible uncle. A huge wave comes in, for which he of course releases your hand so that he can jump over it, leaving you to go tumbling head over foot into the terrifying frenzy of whirling water. Anyway, remember how your nose feels right after? Well, that's what it's like your first time with a neti pot. But, you get used to it and even start to crave it after a while (okay, maybe that last part is just me).

My friend Chele, a health counselor who specializes in gastrointestinal issues, has written a great blog post to get you going: Neti Pot—Every Home Should Have One.

Let me know if you try it!

Missed the swim class last night—Matt was working late and I had to do kid pick-up from school. I have deeply-buried triathlon aspirations for my six-year-old, Adam, so I thought it would be good to take him to the pool to watch the coach demonstrate and my classmates swim. I think I hooked him—he wants to take swimming lessons, too. So psyched!

I am back at the gym this morning. No cycling or running for six weeks (five to go), but I am cleared to swim and walk. Yippie! Truly, I am not sure that level of activity will keep me from storing all those extra calories I've been taking in since I started making my own granola bars (chocolate-chocolate chip... yum!), much less keep me in shape. I'm feeling pretty groovy and have no pain—just light pressure. I wonder if I can cut that time off a bit and start again once I get to Florida mid-December. Sure would be a shame to waste all that good weather on sleeping in...

Nutrition for endurance athletes... Anyone? I looked everywhere and found very little in terms of solid, useful advice. I found a certified Level 2 triathlon coach recommending jelly sandwiches as a recovery food. Among some other healthful suggestions were bagels, muffins and pasta. Hmmm... sugar and white flour? No thanks.

As a homotoxicologist, one of my life's passions is detox. Not the multicolor poop kind that you get after drinking a week's worth of apple cider, lemon juice and olive oil. I am talking about something a bit longer lasting. The kind that cleans your cells and everything around them.

Imagine a three-dimensional spider web with hundreds of spider eggs lodged all over it. Those eggs are your cells and the web is your extracellular matrix (ECM). Your cells communicate and get nutrition and water through ECM. Now think of all the sugar, white flour, preservatives and processed foods sticking in, and clogging up, the ECM. The cellular communication is slower, and the nutrients and water are not getting through as they should. How fast do you think you will run? If you are made of sludge, you perform like sludge... slowly.

Okay. Lecture over.

The plate of greasy, salty french fries seductively calls my name. They are so yummy, melting in my mouth, sending waves of pleasure through my body. Tomorrow's run is still hours away, but this is now, and I love it. Of course it will slow me down, make me gassy and bloated and regretful of every delicious bite, but so what? I stick to my 90/10 life. Ninety percent of the time I do what I should, and ten percent of the time I do what I want. So, a word to the wise—find balance and think before you eat.

Good news! Say "shit!" and say it like you mean it. I love to curse, and I do it all the time. It gives me satisfaction like nothing else can. A well-placed profanity provides the release I need to get over it and move on. 

A recent study by British psychologist Dr. Richard Stephens links the use of four-letter words, profanities and vulgarities with pain management. Dr. Stephens decided to investigate this connection after becoming intrigued by his wife’s use of expletives during labor, and the midwife’s confirmation that strong language is a frequent occurrence in the birthing rooms of Britain. While student volunteers immersed their hands in frigid ice water, he monitored the endurance variances between two groups—those encouraged to swear or curse, and those reduced to chanting a simple chorus without profanities. In a nutshell, the rude team won.

It still cracks me up when I think of the time our four-year-old's teacher told Matt that Sasha said "shit" on the playground. To the teacher's masked amusement, Matt only replied, "Did he use it appropriately?" We teach our kids the power of words, and how words can hurt others. But really, is there any harm in the occasional "adult" language we use to express ourselves? After all, they are just words.

"Under certain circumstances, urgent circumstances, desperate circumstances, profanity provides a relief denied even to prayer." ~ Mark Twain

I'm four weeks into my triathlon aspirations and daily workouts, and I've had my first setback. I injured my pelvic ligaments and threw my spine out of alignment. Don't get me started—I could write a sitcom scene around this one. Such a disability sounds like it should have come from having really awesome, energetic, pillow-biting sex, but sadly, it resulted simply from walking uphill fast and doing those exercises where you lie on your side and lift your legs and torso at the same time. Massive pain in my back. The chiropractor said I have been overtraining, and it's true; I barely take any days off. It hurt so bad, I couldn't even put on my socks!

Here's what I did to fix it. I am telling you this because it's day three now and I am feeling pretty awesome. Who knows, maybe this advice will come in handy for you sometime.

As soon as I limped back from the gym, I took homeopathic Arnica Montana in 30C (yes, I have it laying around just in case. Doesn't everyone?). I had my green smoothie with extra protein, and took huge gulps (at least five) out of the cod liver oil bottle. Then I took a nice hot shower, and put arnica cream on right after. Once my stomach was empty, I took five proteolytic enzymes.

As soon as I could, I went to see my homeopath and chiropractor. After the chiropractor visit, I was feeling much better. So, the regimen was:

3 proteolytic enzymes - 4x a day
4 tablespoons of cod liver oil - 3x a day
2 probiotics - 3x a day
tons of green smoothies and wheat grass juice
homeopathic remedy 2x a day
and the chiropractor 3x a week.

So here I am on day three of my injury. I did 800 meters in the pool and am not feeling any pain. One or two of these things must have worked.

I am backtracking a little, so bear with me.

The first thing I did was sign up for a swim class. I swim in that flamboyant, flashy style my mom taught me when I was seven. The idea is to kick, splash and generally create as much drama as possible. Otherwise, how else will everyone know that I am working hard?

Charles, my multisport inspiration, told me about his first time in the swim part of the race. He got kicked in the head, bounced around and pushed under in the initial frenzy of hundreds entering the water all at once. It was frightening and disorienting. He said I needed to train to leave the water as fresh as I entered it. The swim should be the easy part.

He said that it was all in the technique. Get the form right, and the swim is yours. Great! I can do that.

Jack Rabbit Sports has great swim classes. I signed up for one at a pool a few blocks from my home. The class started a few weeks earlier, but I felt confident that I would mesmerize them with my flawless showmanship of fountain-like freestyle.

My friend Pati and I made a detour from our Saturday Greenmarket shopping to go to Paragon Sports to get me all the trimmings. I got a red, white and blue supergirl bathing suit (it was on sale) and a red cap to match. I opted for the clear goggles because red freaks me out and makes me think that I had an aneurysm and am now bleeding out into the water. I was all set!

I got to the pool early, suited up and headed out. Everyone in the class was super-friendly, which made it much less intimidating. It turned out that everyone had already been running, biking, swimming and in great shape for some time.

I introduced myself to the coach and expertly lowered my body into the water. It was cold! We were told to do easy laps, and off we went. Push off, splash, splash, splash... breathe, don't forget to breathe. I made it as far as the pool length—25 meters—and stood there, panting at the wall. Hey! The guy in the other red cap just completed 50! Hmmm, well, he's a guy.

The next 50 were timed. We were off, like the wind or a tsunami or something. Well, not me... on the way back, I lost my breath, gulped, and went under. Finally, red-faced, I doggie-paddled all the way to the wall. I had the slowest time.

For the remainder of the class, we did sprint relays. I won't go into how it quickly became a humiliating massacre to my self-esteem. Regardless, my teammates were amazing and incredibly encouraging. The coach said that I will catch up. I was in!

My inspiration was the 2009 New York Triathlon. All those people doing the unthinkable—specifically, jumping into the Hudson River. It just grossed me out. That water must be super toxic; I expected to find them glowing as they emerged from their swim.

Instead, I saw myself. Not then, not now, but soon. And I started thinking...

You see, I am not an athlete. Never have been. Most of my adult life I have been five or ten pounds away from the perfect weight. Two pregnancies sixteen months apart did not make matters any better. Hey, I love my little guys and treasure all the gifts they bestow upon me. Do I love what bringing them into the world did to my body? No, I do not!

It took me a long time to figure out how to find the time to make it to the gym. There were a few things standing in my way. First off, I hate to exercise. Oh, what the hell—that is THE reason. Making the time for something I hate? Not easy.

One day, in August of 2008, I caught a glance of myself in the mirror and realized that things were heading south. Literally. That week, I went to the gym and got a membership. Matt, my husband, was not so optimistic—he gave me two weeks to land back on the sofa. Proving him wrong was enough of an incentive for me, so I did the only thing I could: I started going to the gym before I was fully awake. I put my clothes, water bottle and iPod out the night before and set the alarm for 4:45AM (yes, AM). It stuck. The following summer, I was still at the gym five days a week, waking myself up to to the groovy tunes of the Bee Gees, as I warmed up on the treadmill.

Until the New York Triathlon.