DIY Peloton/Spin bike for under $100!

During COVID2020 I have been offering free indoor cycling classes that folks can take live or recorded on their own timeline.

One of the most exciting aspects of this has been seeing friends from all over the globe and from so many different parts of my life, be able to enjoy what I have to offer, and also many who I don’t know.

Those that don’t log on say it is because they don’t have an indoor bike to ride.

I say, you can do the workout on a treadmill or just with your body if you want…

But, I know it’s not the same.  And all of us indoor cycling junkies are fixing for a fix!

The music.  The sweat.  The endorphins!

Well, don’t fear!  You too can ride inside, any day, any time, and you can do it for under $100.

Plus, anyone in hour SIP posse can join take advantage of your great new indoor cycle too!

What gives, you ask?

Grab any bike you have, purchase one of the trainers linked below, and get going on one of the best at-home workouts in the world.

Then pop on over to Facebook and the YOLO CYCLE page and let’s get you rolling!

Trainers for under $100 * note there are many other trainers out there if you want to spend more…I was just being thrifty. Your welcome!

And put a heavy mat like this         under your new bike!

 

 

 

 

Bump up the cardio, baby!

I remember sitting bow-legged on the instructor bike and my class looking at me like they were thinking, maybe it’s time, Raychel.  That was exactly one week before I gave birth and I was already one-week past due!  So, if you want my personal opinion, I would say, yes, you can keep riding. I am living proof with a now 17-year-old baby, that for me it was okay.  But I’m no pregnancy expert, so I went to the official sources to find out – what does science have to say about exercise, and specifically, indoor cycling, while pregnant?

Pregnancy isn’t the time to throw in the towel on your fitness, nor is it time to exercise for two, but according to the American College of Obstetrics and Gynecology (ACOG), some exercise during pregnancy is helpful in reducing back pain, promoting healthy weight gain, and strengthening the heart and blood vessels.

The general rule for pregnancy is that, so long as you are healthy and have a normal pregnancy, moderate exercise during pregnancy is just what the doctor ordered.  

This does not mean to suggest that if you haven’t exercised before you became pregnant that you should jump right in now that you are.  It is important to slowly build up your endurance, strength, and cardiovascular ability, just as you would when not pregnant.  

And before beginning any exercise regimen, everyone should be sure to check with their healthcare provider to be sure that it is right for you.  Hopefully, you are good to go, and can derive the many great benefits that it can offer your mental and physical states.  

The great news about indoor cycling is that it is an excellent way for pregnant women to get low impact cardiovascular activity that is safe into the 3rd trimester.  Cycling is good for sleep, mood, and easing back pain and it can even help you build the stamina you will need for pregnancy, childbirth, and, don’t forget, keeping up with that toddler in the blink of an eye.

So, if you feel ready to give cycling a spin…here are a few basics to follow to make sure you stay healthy and return to the bike regularly!

#1 – Keep your cool

This is SUPER important.  When you are pregnant, your core body temperature increases.  Add to that a good dose of sweaty cycle and it is easy to overheat (getting to 102 degrees F or more) which can be dangerous for the baby if it goes on too long.

Here are some ideas for how to keep your cool:

  • Wear moisture-wicking clothes
  • Sit near a fan, maybe even bring in a personal clip-on fan and add it to the end of your handlebars.

#2  – Your new favorite cocktail – water!

As per #1 and always the rule of thumb – drink up, baby!  20 oz before, 20 oz during and 20 oz after.

#3 – Let’s not take your breath away

Pregnancy is not the time to be building your anaerobic endurance. For now, keep your breath to where you can hold a “breathy” conversation.  This means keeping your exertion somewhere between light and somewhat challenging.

#4 Sit, sit, sit, sit, and sit

 While it is the current trend to stand up off the saddle during stationary bike classes, it is not recommended for pregnancy as your center of gravity is changed and it is easy to get thrown off balance.  Additionally, with more flexibility in the joints, it is possible to over stretch and put too much pressure on the knees.

#5 Location location location

While you might know you are ALWAYS a saddle height F and fore/aft 6, that may not be the case anymore.  More likely you will need to reposition the bike each time you get on during your pregnancy where changes in your body are happening daily.  Some suggestions for modifications to your bike are:

  • Make the handlebars higher – handlebar height on a stationary bike is just about comfort
  • Adjust the fore/aft of the saddle to accommodate your growing belly

#6 Don’t make them wonder if you are pregnant or not!

Always tell the instructor you are pregnant so they can be sure to keep an eye on you, turn fans in your direction and understand what is happening if you are not doing what they are instructing, or need to cut out early.

This is a quick video of my niece-in-law, Erin, at 34 weeks, riding her Pel–on, showing great form, despite a big bump:

Here’s Dylan on their bike now with their son, Maxwell Fox Brannon (my great nephew)

Congrats on this exciting time in life.  Hope to see you on the bike pre- and post-baby!  

Be well,

Raychel

 

 

The Beauty and the Burden

It has felt unusual to be silent during this time of tumult and transition – yet I have felt, until now, without words.

What follows is what I had written just before the Corona Pandemic went viral, with the intent of COMING OUT of winter hibernation.  Yet, here I am now in a new kind of hibernation.

If you are anything like me, most of what you are reading these days is related to Corona.  (Side note: Does anyone else sing the lyrics, “My Sharona” in their heads, or out loud, but replace the Sharona with Corona, or is that just me?)  So, to begin this post I want to do some time travel together and take you back to what was on this page before this strange trip began…

Sunday, March 1st, 2020

It has been a while.  Too long.   

What’s happened around YOLO WELL during that too long of a while is that ten wonderful women were able to pull out of the regular streams of their lives to attend the WILBUR WOMEN’S WELLNESS WEEKEND in October.  It was a special sliver of time to reflect on the values that are at the foundation of what gives our lives meaning and how tapping into this can help support our overall well-being. The weekend was a cornucopia of self-care, group learning and sharing, short hikes, dips in the healing waters of Wilbur Hot Springs, yin and vinyasa yoga with Sally Mohr, a lovely little Nia practice with the outstanding Laura Geduldig, and deliciously nutritious meals prepared by our resident chef Naomi Hester.  By the way, Naomi was recently accepted into OHSU Portland where she will study to become a Dr. Midwife!  WOOT WOOT!)

Those moments of quiet and the slower pace of Wilbur were quickly usurped by the hubbub of the holiday season.  And just as soon as we turned the page to 2020, my life took an unexpected, though appreciated, turn when a spring scheduled surgery was bumped up to January 15th.

Now six-weeks post-surgery with a fresh set of tatas (thanks to my amazing female surgeon, Dr. KK), I find I have caught my breath and feel ready to be here, baring my chest once again.

Many of you who know me or have read my book, Life in Asymmetry, have heard the lopsided story up to my most recent surgery.  If not, or for the super quick recap, eleven years ago I had a prophylactic double mastectomy because I am a carrier of a mutated BRCA gene that puts me at a very high (87%) likelihood of getting cancer in my lifetime.  During the same surgery I elected to have my breasts reconstructed using a method called a DIEP flap that was a 10+ hour surgery to create new breasts from my own abdominal tissue keeping my skin, areola, and nipple intact.

What some well-meaning folks had suggested would be my “perfect mommy makeover” turned into the most hellish experience I have had as a human.  Six surgeries, a life-threatening internal infection, three months as a uniboob, and many weeks away from my daughters and husband were storms I had to weather. In the years since I lived my life moving forward as though the crisis was averted.  Although it hadn’t been the journey I had anticipated, the relief was still palpable– I’d dodged the cancer bullet and years of wondering when the cancer that had already taken my mom and sister, would happen to me.  The stress of constant surveillance tests, the false positives that lead to unnecessary biopsies, and the worst part for me, the worrying while waiting on results.  All of my concerns it seemed were assuaged by saying goodbye to a bunch of fatty flesh. I might live to meet my grandchildren.  My timeline elongated, and, for the first time since my sister told me she had the BRCA gene, I could take a deep breath.

As the years passed, however, my respiration moved back to shallow, as old concerns were swapped with new stressors–like what my skin felt like in different fabrics or how certain parts of my chest had heightened sensitivity while other areas remained dull more than a decade later.  

The mental and emotional toll was less anticipated and more devastating.  I saw myself as now being deformed.  To me, my chest looked like an ugly patchwork quilt had a baby with a lump of unformed clay.  The term, “uncomfortable in your own skin” took on real-life meaning.  My self-esteem was so crippled in this area that nobody, short of doctors and the very occasional late-night skinny dip with my husband, saw me bare-chested.  I barely even looked at myself nude.  Sure, as some have pointed out, in clothes you can’t tell.  

On top of all that, since I spend a good part of my volunteer service with a local breast cancer non-profit and have been the VP for its first four years, breast cancer is part of my day-to-day life. I regularly find myself with breast cancer survivors at our workshops, events, and programs, in infusion clinics or doctors’ appointments with my Pink Pals, and generally living a very public pink ribbon life.  But I didn’t have breast cancer myself. Although most people are surprised to hear this when I am brave enough to share, it is felt.  Yes, even in this very caring and well-meaning community, I am different.  That I have had my own tragedies, surgeries, near-death experiences and deaths of loved ones related to the same disease does not feel like it has a place among those who have had and continue to have treatments.  How can I complain about my ugly deformed breast when at least I had breasts.  I didn’t lose my hair or my tastebuds.  Now, of course, there is a chance I have construed this all in my head and that there is no hierarchy on the amount of empathy a person can give or get, but when it comes down to it, if you were me and there were two spots left on a breast cancer survivors weekend retreat, would you go?  No matter the choice, the pain of feeling these feelings and not having a place or person to share it with that could totally get it, has left its own set of scars.

When the ten-year shelf life of my breast implant was coming close to due, and it was time to get some new stuffing, it seemed like a formality–something that had to happen medically.  I was feeling like a couch cushion that needed some reshaping and new fluff.  It didn’t feel emotional so much as exciting.  

Coming out on the other side however, I feel my sexy coming back. This last surgery was healing both physically and emotionally and I am left looking forward, out toward a less asymmetric horizon.  

Friday, March 27th, 2020

BOOM.

At the end of February that horizon was looking quite dreamy.  I was looking forward to my birthday month–a time when “herstorically” I have always set some life goals for myself and made plans for my next trip around the sun.  

What was next on that blog post was to share that my new better looking and feeling boobs had me wanting to whip up the rest of my body too.  Extra padding had developed this last year and a half since losing all of my metabolizing hormones when I had my ovaries removed, and I was getting plumper by the day.  The fact that one of my favorite parts of the day is when I get some exercise wasn’t enough. The month of March would be dedicated to finding ways to get my metabolism boosted through food choices.

But then, Corona (My Sharona).  And here we are now.  Did it feel good to read about something other than Corona?  Yes?  Well, I’m glad.  But now that time is done. Sorry.

Looking back over my writerly life, I seem to be drawn to the keyboard at the more inopportune times in life.  In 2001 my book title was going to be, “My mom just died, I moved across the country with no support system intact and I want to have a baby.”  Today’s title would be, “The world is not like it used to be, my life is on quarantine, and I am feeling incredibly hopeful?”  Strange, but true.

I’ve shared a bit, in what I thought were safe spaces, of this last sentiment of hopefulness and have gotten a mixed response ranging from nodding in agreement to a scrunched up face that seemed to feel I should be ashamed of what I’d said.  

I get it.  Several family members and friends work in areas that will likely become non-existent, another is a professor who was already overworked and is now overwhelmed trying to get her classes online and is married to an ER doc who is working overtime and says they haven’t even begun to see the numbers yet.

This is unprecedented…unheard of. That many will lose jobs, businesses, colleagues and family members is not lost on me.  My family will be a part of all of this.  But there is something about the global nature of this pandemic that feels different.  The streets of LA without traffic, Broadway dark, and skies all over the world clear of the previously ever-present smog from our over industrialized, overpopulated and over-stimulated world.

The earth was screaming at us to listen.  What else would have made us stop our insatiable material hunger?  Slowed our frenetic pace?  Halted our one-stop, drive-thru, convenience-oriented culture?  What else could have staved off our craving for instant gratification?  How could we have made the turns we have seen in mere weeks–our teenagers getting more sleep, colleges deciding to forgo the age-old unequitable standardized tests as measures of a student’s worthiness.  What would have been big enough to force people who couldn’t stand each other to learn to share space and make peace, even if it is just enough to survive?  When else would people make camping tents into offices and t-shirts into facemasks?  What else could have caused our internet feeds to be filled with DIY sanitizing products and recipes for meals made only from canned foods instead of glam shots of overstuffed plates and perfect looking meals?  What would have tipped the balance toward telecommuting and flipped the table of time spent between work and family toward family?  Just in our family, we have taken more dog walks together this past month than ever in our dog owner lives.  We play board games, bake our own bread, make our own cilantro lime rice, falafel, Buddha and poke bowls.  We are learning and teaching and dancing and writing and meeting online and my oldest daughter and I just signed up for an online ASL class together.  We have personal challenges like running 30 seconds more each day, challenges with friends to try new things, family challenges.  Strange to call it a break given the circumstances, but there are many times when it feels like just what the life doctor ordered.

In our family, we like to make rituals around making wishes.  Every time the clock hits 11:11 is one.  When an eyelash falls out.  When it’s our birthday o’clock (3:30 in my case).  You catch my drift.  Well, for the past year and a half, in addition to my regulars, like good days for my family and friends and good enough health to be able to enjoy them, I have added that I wish I could be given a big life PAUSE button.   Or maybe just a slo-mo life so that I could be super present to this time before our daughter leaves for college, while we are still the solid four we call our family unit.  I don’t wish for it to be easy.  I don’t wish for lavish trips or bigger, better, something or others, I wish for health and time with my loved ones.  

Now, this is all that there is.  Today, my biggest blessings are my health and that of my husband, children, and dog and the house that we have to shelter ourselves in.  I am so very blessed to have these gifts in my life.

I told my writing group I couldn’t meet today (on Zoom) as planned as I needed to put my focus on my family.  It is unlike me to cancel at the last minute but in this case it didn’t seem like a choice.  Susan replied to my cancellation with “…I envision you as the anchor holding the family steady.  Such a blessing, such a burden.”  

The truth of her sentiment waved over me.  It was so true for what I was experiencing right now both in the ways it related to the story of my breasts and of carrying the BRCA gene and also to what is happening now with the Corona Pandemic.

The burdens of this pandemic are perhaps the most obvious and definitely the most painful. It is not and will not be easy.  We are caring for kids, aging parents, family members with compromised immune systems, friends with weak lungs. We are trying to work and school from home without knowing when there will be a physical school we can return to.  We are sharing small spaces and diminishing resources.  There are huge losses and seemingly insurmountable challenges to be faced.  All of these things–change, unpredictability, loss and the unknown are very hard for us to bear.  We feel unsettled and don’t know what is next.  We are collectively grieving.   Our planet and life as we have come to know it depends on us holding this burden, collectively, as a united front, in this one very small and very big way.  

This is our burden to hold.  

Yet if we are open to it.  Willing to get uncomfortable, navigate change, and most importantly, take notice of what is happening on a macro universe level, then it is possible to see the blessings that this time has to offer within the challenge.  An extraordinary, once in a lifetime chance to change, find a new vibration, slow down and reset–celebrate the beauty within the burden. 

For me, however, this is what it takes for some of the greatest things in life.  I am literally sitting here with the phone by my side, ringer on, which it never is, because I am waiting to hear from my nephew that his son has arrived.  There is much to be said about having a baby at this time of crisis, but the thing I have been thinking about is this – accepting our “fate”, as I will call it here, is not a death wish or a willy nilly ignorant way to look at living life.  It is like parenting, we know and fully embrace that there will be tremendous pain and sacrifice in the process, but if we want to be parents, this is just one part of the greater journey. So we welcome the challenges as pathways to the breakthroughs.

In the case of Corona 2020, what if this tragedy is saving us from something far worse?

This is our beauty to behold.

Nama-stay right where you are…and let’s stay connected.

Sending love and light,

Raychel

 

Confessions of a Top Wearing Nudist

I tend to get myself into hot water on my birthday.

For my 40th, I invited two large tables of my favorite ladies to join me at the Sonoma Mission Inn and Spa.  We bathed in the roman baths, basked in the sun, wined and dined. I even made an unscripted speech thanking each woman individually for what they brought to my life that was literally EXACTLY 40 minutes long.

Another birthday dip was more intimate – just me and my hubby, Mitchel, at one of my all-time faves at the end of the main road in Calistoga.  This time I eschewed the shi-shi of Sonoma Mission Inn for the more vintage vibes at Indian Springs. Thermal geysers, originating back to a volcanic eruption in the area, come from fissures in the earth at 230 degrees and is then cooled in a series of reservoirs before entering the Olympic-sized main pool at about body temperature.  The 19th Century charm of this place has been preserved, including the bathhouse- complete with a Pepsi Cola clock that still keeps the time.

My favorite way to enjoy Indian springs is at night, under a blanket of stars.  Putting my head on one “noodle-cadoodle” as I call the long flotation devices they have there, and another under my legs, I can drift for hours, enjoying the plumes of vapor coming from the place where the springs are channeled toward my awaiting body.  In the dark, I imagine a huge dragon in the distance, blowing smoke through his snout.

This year, with my husband away at a training, I planned another birthday plunge with my lady friends, this time asking them to adventure with me to a more humble spot, Wilbur Hot Springs.  Once a sacred Native American ceremonial grounds, Wilbur is now an Asian style, clothing-optional bathhouse. At less than a 2-hour drive from Davis, this has become a favorite day trip that really makes you feel like you’ve gotten away.  Wilbur is off the grid and off the hook.

My first pick-up of the day was to get Jessy, a friend for the past 11+ years since our children met in Kindergarten.  We hadn’t seen each other a lot over that time besides the few minute exchanges we had at “sibling playgroup” pickup and drop-offs, and the occasional school-related social event.  But recently, not having much contact with my early mom friends now that our kids were in High School, I had been extending offers to reconnect, and Jessy was showing up.

I knew as soon as I saw her standing on her front porch that I hadn’t done a great job of preparing her for what the day might hold.  She had on a maxi dress and platform sneakers. Her hair had been “done” that morning and she had a full face of make-up.

“You know we aren’t going to a ‘resort’ spa, right?” I asked as soon as she opened the car door.  The look on her face made it clear that she did not know that, so I continued. “Wilbur is a hot spring, not a spa,” I said.  “It’s very rustic and remote. It’s a mellow, hippie, clothing-optional kind-of-place.”

Jessy’s face had flopped by the time I finished with my Wilbur soapbox.

“Clothing optional?” she asked.  “Do people really take that option?”

I could hear a quiver in her voice that made me worry I might be down one girlfriend on this birthday outing.

“Sorry if that wasn’t clear,” I said, “I’ve been going there for years and never really thought about it much, I guess.”

“So do you go ropa or no ropa,” Jessy asked, reverting to the Spanglish we tended to use with one another, the aftereffect of having kindled our friendship at a Spanish immersion public elementary school.

“Well, kinda both,” I answered.  “Ever since my surgeries, I just wear a swim top,” I said, thinking it was a totally normal thing to say and do. For a while I didn’t go anywhere that would possibly put me in a position of exposing myself, including Wilbur.

“Wait, really?” Jessy said, giving me a quizzical look.  “You wear a swim TOP but not a BOTTOM?” She didn’t seem to be able to tell if I was joking or not. “That’s so weird.  Why would you do that?”

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