'Hit the showers, Rocky. Hit the showers.'

It became official this morning: I once again OWN the Reebok step. I slay it. I crush it. It is mine.

Years ago, I went to Step class every day it was offered. In the morning, if I felt I didn’t get enough of a workout on the Step by an instructor who I didn’t particularly care for, then I went back to the 5:15 p.m. class the same day for a second go-round. Cardiovascularly, I was in damn good shape.

I haven’t been -- and I’m still not -- in the shape I was then. But once again, I feel confidant in saying, I am conditioned to a level where an hour in Step class doesn’t kill me. Still pushes me. Still tires me out. Still makes me sweat. But, folks, I got this.

Feels good! Feels really good to say that. I forgot how good it feels to be “conditioned.” There were two newbies in Step class this morning, both of whom were quite skinny, who were uncoordinated and tired out by break, and I could tell they sort of didn’t understand how hard it was to keep up. Here I am, a tush six sizes bigger than theirs, yet I was handling the class a lot better. Cardio stamina isn’t necessarily about size; it’s about “conditioning.”

But, anyway, as I was headed down the hallway to leave the Y, my pal Joe Tougas popped out of his office and said, “Hit the showers, Rocky. Hit the showers.” It’s funny because I kind of felt like Rocky after the stair-climbing scene. The only thing missing was the theme song.

In America, being social and eating go hand in hand

American social engagements seem always to consist of two main components: talking about yourself in between mouthfuls of food or drink. The first aspect I obviously have no problem with. I do, after all, rush to this blog several days per week to spew forth my thoughts and goings-ons, fully believing you're all so extremely eager to hear all about it.

The latter aspect I'm having trouble with.

As spring has set in, I'm finding myself going to a lot more events. There have been family holidays, parties and other nights out with friends, and all seem to revolve around consumption of food and alcohol. I haven't been handling these situations very well. I go with the intention of just drinking water, or maybe having one glass of wine and sipping on it the whole night. But, at a certain point, I decide to just write the night off.

Do you know what I mean by that, fellow dieters? It's as if you all of a sudden throw your hands up and say, "Well, it's a party, I'll be extra good tomorrow." And then you stuff a cupcake in your mouth.

It's weird because, what difference does it make to anyone else at these gatherings if I put something in my mouth or not? Would anyone notice if I didn't eat or drink anything? Would I seem anti-social? I think, save for any events where my mom is included, I doubt anyone would care. Yet, there doesn't seem much point to go, in my own mind, if I'm not going to join everyone else in having a good time, and in our culture, that seems to include lots of calories.

So, I'm hoping for your thoughts on this. What do you do when you have a social event to attend where there will be lots of food and drinks? What do you tell yourself? Any mental tactics? My biggest problem is self-control in these situations, so any advice would be great. I'd hate to sit home all summer because I don't trust myself to go anywhere. Help!

Reminder to come walk with me at the 10Kato!!!

Reminder to register for the 10Kato and come walk with me!!

Only a handful of people have joined my little walking team, so there's plenty of room left, not that we could run out of room, I guess. It is a public sidewalk, after all. ...Anyway ...

The 10Kato is Monday, May 30, and the start is at Dickinson and Emerson streets. Registration before May 13 is $17, it's $20 after May 13, and it's $25 the day of the race. There are brochures with registration forms to mail in at the Y, or go to this site and print out the form there.

E-mail me at adyslin@mankatofreepress.com if you want to join my team. I hope you do!

Do men suffer from blind confidence syndrome?

There's a reason many hands of elementary school boys shoot into the air at twice the speed and frequency of girls when the teacher asks a question, regardless of whether they actually know the correct answer. Is it genetics that make boys more assertive and more confident than girls? Should we blame their mothers for treating them like little princes that, surely, the whole world should admire and look to for answers?

It's amazing to me the gall of some men, ready and more than willing to half listen to a conversation and loudly interrupt with an opinion in a tone that suggests there is no room for a counterpoint.

More amazing is the blind confidence when it comes to women. Take the Life Center at the Y, for example. Sometimes I feel terrible for the women employed there. Naturally, they are young and in great shape. They're all very pretty and sweet. And quite often, I'll see men sidle up to the front counter where one of them is folding towels and proceed to flirt. There's one guy in particular who is absolutely relentless. One day I was on an elliptical next to one of the Y employees who was there on her own time working out, and three or four guys -- older than her by at least 10 years -- interrupted her workout to come talk to her.

Imagine if it was a guy in his early 20s, working out on his own time. How many women who age him by at least 10 years would come and interrupt his workout to make fools of themselves? I'm betting not a single one. I never see women gathered around a male Y employee, saying ridiculous things and hoping he'll flirt back.

Must be nice to live life without shame. But, guys, just so you know, many of you are just wasting your time. Leave the pretty Y girls alone. Jeez.

Time to relaaaaax

The time has come to relax. I'm feeling pretty good about where I am, health wise. Fifty pounds gone feels good. And I'm thinking it's time to just enjoy that and not worry so much about losing X number of pounds in X number of days.

I can honestly say I think the "lifestyle" has changed. Even without a trainer, I've been putting in at least five hours of exercise per week. I have many more good eating days than bad, but I don't stay totally away from bad foods. If I really want nachos, I have a few. If candy is all I can think about, I'll eat some Hot Tamales. No biggie. Because as long as I get up the next morning, have low-sugar oatmeal and go to the gym, it all evens out in the end.

So no more obsessing. Weight will come off slower with this attitude, sure. But who says that's a bad thing when you're happy with where you are now? Any progress is good, and not feeling so consumed by the journey will feel even better.

I'll still have lots of junk to write about, though, so stay tuned!

Sorry, folks, I'm not a runner

I'm convinced that southern Minnesotans are addicted to running and they're eager to hook others, kind of like heroin dealers hoping to build a clientele by offering free samples. I've received so many offers for weekend running partners, 5K trainers and marathon-training buddies that I'm running out of humorous/polite ways to say, "Have you met my butt? Because it's not ready to move that quickly."

Even if I was tiny, I cannot imagine having the desire to run. I often wonder what these people are getting out of it. Must be good, considering they hit the streets at least several days a week and post status updates on Facebook about whatever hill they conquered and how many miles they did in however many minutes. I've heard about "runner's high," which I'm sure must feel good to these people. Maybe that's the secret to the addiction.

But you know what feels good to me? Recliner's high. Or at least An-hour-of-exercise-that-doesn't-take-me-miles-away-so-I-can-easily-quit-when-I'm-tired high.

It's not that I don't appreciate the kind offers to turn me into a runner, which clearly many people hold in high regard around here. But it's just not something I want to do. The funniest part is being honest with said runners and saying these exact words. I get a sense that some of them don't understand me, like saying "I have no desire to run" sounds as strange to them as someone saying to me, "I don't like sweets."

To each her own, I guess. (And, yes, I have heard of couch to 5K programs, and, no, that doesn't change anything. You are a persuasive bunch!)

I hope bin Laden feared for his soul

Ten years ago, I was in college, commuting from my mom's house in Fairmont to MSU every day. Some days I would get home at 2 or 3 in the morning, having driven an hour from school (working at The Reporter), and have to get up the next morning at 8 or 9 to get back to school.

So, on the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, I was sleeping when the first plane hit the tower. My sister knocked on my bedroom door and said, "Amanda, something big is happening. You should turn on the TV." I was 20. My sister was 17. She had absolutely no credibility in my mind. So I yelled something about how she should know how late I'm up, and she should keep quiet.

It nagged at me, though, and I couldn't sleep. So I turned on the TV in my room just in time to see the second plane hit the tower.

I remember not fully getting it. Not understanding what I was seeing. Not understanding why the NBC anchor lost his composure. Were we at war? Was I in danger in Fairmont, Minnesota? How many people worked in those buildings? How many deaths was I witnessing?

Later that day, my best friend, Sara, came over and we started to piece the puzzle together, spouting our theories about the tragedy and what would happen next. Studying the news coverage and letting it sink in that we were sharing in a very important, solemn moment in our country's history. Still not understanding what would cause someone to commit such a horrible act.

In the years that followed, the 9/11 wound scarred over. I say that with ease. I didn't know anyone involved in the tragedy. I was only affected in the way the majority of Americans were, peripherally, in the way that we embraced nationalism and identified ourselves as Americans on a united front against our enemies.

But it wasn't until tonight that I felt a sense of closure. Until now, it has felt like the murderer of 3,000 Americans has been allowed to go free, arrogantly releasing videos and threatening further attacks.

I do not believe in the death penalty. Usually I equate eye-for-an-eye punishment to barbarism. But, tonight, I'm glad Osama bin Laden is dead. I hope he suffered. I hope he prayed for his life. I hope he thought about the horrendous acts he committed and questioned his motives, feared for his soul. I hope he believed at the moment of his death that he would not be forgiven, that he would burn. And I hope his fears came true.

But, mostly, my heart swells for the family of the 9/11 victims. My thoughts go out to you, and even though this doesn't bring your loved ones back, I hope you, too, feel a sense of closure.