Jamie Danford

Who's ready for a 'Reset?"

ME! ME! ME!

It's no secret that I love me some Beachbody products... remember when we did Insanity?  Oh that Shaun T... what a presh.  Well, I've rekindled my love affair with their products, and have had a lot of success dropping some extra lbs following their 21 Day Fix plan (mostly the nutrition part, less of the actual workouts because I prefer a good walk.)  

I'm eleven pounds lighter than I was in July, which is a good thing, because my size 10's were trying to convince me that their cousin, size 12 was my new best friend.  Uh, NO.  Who the heck wants to go buy new clothes in a BIGGER size??? Not this chicka.

So after 2 rounds of 21 Day Fix, and a fun weekend cleanse (3 Day Refresh, also from Beachbody) I'm looking to up my game.  The 3 Day Refresh kinda showed me that I could definitely do without all the crapola I've been putting in my body.  You know, my faves... Diet Coke, processed foods... booze.  Sigh. It was an eye opening (albeit barren) weekend, and it convinced me to try my newest adventure, the Ultimate Reset... a 21 day attempt to Reclaim, Release & Restore my pollutant-ridden system.  

So, I did my homework...

...and started it yesterday.  So on day two, this is what I can tell you...

It's definitely more 'involved' than the three day cleanse... lots of supplements (6 to be exact)...

...added to a dose of good ol' fashioned healthy cooking (great recipes included), and a guiding voice that encourages you to answer some pretty honest (and possibly awkward) questions...

 

So far I haven't starved to death, although I thought I saw the grim reaper while guzzling this green stuff...

 

Dear JESUS.

I now have a whole new respect for cattle, because I'm prrrrrretty sure this is liquid cud.  (Organic alfalfa, barley grass, kamut grass, and wheat grass to be more specific.)  Just once a day though... 21 times.  I've got this.  Yum, cud.

So, I'll report back to you with the good, the bad and the ugly... damn I hope there isn't too much ugly.  Okay... Ready, set, reset!

 

 

One Foot in Front of the Other...

Seeing as how I sort of took a bit of a hiatus from ALL PHYSICAL EXERCISE the last couple months of Summer, I definitely needed to get my ass back in gear.

I felt like such a slug for copping out and only doing the relay option of the Rock n Roll half marathon in November, so in an attempt to vindicate and re-motivate myself, I decided to register for the inaugural Publix Savannah Women's half marathon to be held March 28th.  I'm the kind of person who needs to follow a training plan and see results to keep on track, so I printed off Jeff Galloway's walk/run method and stuck it on my fridge.  And just like when I've trained for my other big races in the last few years, I check my mileage every week, and get a little obsessive about planning for my long runs.  

I'm only up to the 8 mile mark as of last week...

... But I've got nine big ones staring me in the face this week.  I love the dread and anticipation of a long run... planning where I'm going to stop for water, picking out my favorite socks and sports bra, and making sure I've got a great playlist ready to rock for a 90+ minute canter through my hood.

I'm feeling pretty good about where I'm at, and even gave myself a little confidence boost by running a couple of the Critz Tybee Runfest races last month...

This ^^^ is a perfect example of when you reeeeeeallly think you look cool, but realize this is as good as you get. However, it's also a great reminder of me feeling MUCH better about myself as I finished the 10K in a time I could actually be proud of (unlike that damn Rock n Roll.) 

So it's back to a life of BioFreeze, compression sleeves, Ibuprofen, and cold mornings for me...

 

...and as I trudge forward, putting one foot in front of the other, I am LOVING it!

Run Jamie Run! ;)

 

Rock n Roll Recap...

You know how sometimes you have that nagging feeling that you're just totally unprepared for something?  Like, I  have this reoccuring dream where I go in to work a shift at Bella's, and I've got six tables waiting for me, and all we have to serve is hot dogs.  It's a disturbing, anxiety-filled suckfest, and I'm always extremely happy to wake up and laugh it off.

Well, that's kind of like my Rock n Roll experience this year.  One week before the race, without either of us running more than 4 miles at a time since February, Mendy and I decided to register for the half marathon relay.  As Team "We're Just Here to See Phillip Phillips," we committed to split the distance... I would do the first leg of 6.2 miles, and she'd tackle the second leg, 6.9 miles.  

We knew it would be a slow painful process... we've both pretty much abandoned running for the last EIGHT months.  But we really wanted to participate in some way, because we've run the Rock n Roll Savannah each of the four years that it's come to town.  And we really wanted to see Phillip Phillips' post-race concert in Forsyth Park.

Sadly, the relay meant that I had to line up at the start by myself.  

But, I've gotta say, the energy and run-happy vibes from the 19,000 folks around me helped calm my anxiety (thank goodness they weren't serving hotdogs!)

 Seriously, if you're looking to find some positive attitudes, I suggest you just meander through a pre-race crowd.  Sure, I mean there are those who are struggling with pre-run poop cramps, or worrying whether their watch is going to link up with the satellite so they get a proper pace time, but all in all, it's such a zen place to be.  

Well, at least I was zen until they started releasing the corrals of runners.  I've never been so nervous about 6.2 miles... but like I said, I've never been SO unprepared.  

My plan was to run the length of a song on my Ipod, then walk two songs, but I'd snuck into a fast paced corral in the middle (11 out of 19) in the hopes that with approximately 10,000 people behind me, I wouldn't end up dead last.  This being said, it meant I needed to run a fast pace for the first mile so that I wouldn't get trampled, or cussed out by the runners who actually belonged in this corral.  So I scampered my little ass all the way to the overpass just before the one mile mark.

Every year, this is my favorite part...

I love seeing this huge crowd of happy awesome people following their hearts and pursuing their goals.  LOVE it.

However, that's about where the love ended for me.  At the two mile mark, my fingers started tingling, and I couldn't get a deep breath.  Heart attack? Panic attack?  Fat ass attack?  (Um, I'm guessing option #3)  I had to have a mental heart to heart with myself, and tell my brain to stop overthinking things, and my legs to stop trying to run a 10 minute mile.  I started following my run/walk plan, and before I knew it, I was over the half way mark...

Two miles later, I was hugging Mendy, and sending her on her way.  

I got a bagel, and Sid rescued me with a thermos full of hot toddy, and life was PERFECTION.  

We meandered over to Forsyth Park and waited for Mendy to zoom through her 6.9 miles.

YAY!!!!  Mendy WE DID IT!!!

 (Thank you sweet girl, for being my partner in crime...  uh, can I borrow some medicated Gold Bond?  I've got a chafed ass crack, and my underboob is raw.  Thanks.)

Oh... and yes, we got to see Phillip Phillips!!

 

So, what started out as a day of uncertainty, following a week of dread, ended with my friends and I sitting in the sun, drinking beer and sharing potato chips with complete strangers while listening to good music.  

See? Rock n' roll really is good for the soul.  

From Fat Roll to Foot-long Hoagie...

Oh goody!  Another post where Jamie whines and bitches about her fat roll.  Like you really need another one of these.  Oh, but wait... we have good news for fat roll lovers; this baby's grown up and turned into a full sized hoagie roll.  A hoagie that's managed to wrap itself around me to the tune of 15 extra  pounds, and size 12 jeans.  

For the last 3 or 4 weeks, I've been nearly 100% excercise free.  No weights, no running, no yoga, no Just Dancing, nope, nada, nuthin'. And before that, my workouts were helter skelter through the Summer.  I just haven't felt like it.  But I know that I've got to get back to moving this hoagie on a regular basis because it's starting to tell me that it's angry.  And an angry hoagie is bad news.  An angry hoagie's back hurts... an angry hoagie has bad cramps when Aunt Flow comes to town, and an angry hoagie snores. SNORES!!!  Are you kidding me?  I've actually woken myself up snoring.  

Lord have mercy.

It's hard to believe that two years ago I was finishing my full marathon training... running 30 miles a week and feeling pretty doggoned awesome.  And then a few months later with the help of Shaun T and his  Insanity fitness plan, I was the strongest and fittest I've EVER been.  

But then that pesky stress fracture screwed everything up.  I couldn't run, and decided to wallow in my own sorrow.  To make it worse, I'd been having a rough time dealing with my mom's Alzheimer's so my doctor prescribed a very small dose of Prozac to see if it would help me not kill mom, Big Dave or Lizzy.  Unfortunately, not only did the prescription NOT help with my emotional turmoil, but I'm pretty sure it helped the pounds creep back around my midsection.  

So... away went the Prozac, and in came the Phentermine (i.e, magic diet pills, i.e, SPEED.)  And guess what... I hated it.  Well, I mean, I REALLY liked the 'floating' feeling I'd get about thirty minutes after swallowing one first thing in the morning, but then the rest of the day I felt jittery and dry-mouthed, and couldn't sleep.  Oh... and the best part? It totally jacked up my metabolism, so my hoagie roll got even bigger.  Awesome.

So here I am, a week after my 42nd birthday, and feeling like a big ol' toad.  It's time to get back to the grind.  

And so I suited up.

Hello old faithful...

***I'd like to interject a quick public service announcement here.  If you're wearing nipple covers, and forget to take them off before a run/walk, you may risk one or more of the following:

1. Your ipod cord may work it's way under the nipple cover and cause mild to extreme chafing.

2. Your nipple covers will probably be stinkier than usual due to massive amounts of sweat.  Apparently areolas perspire too.

3. When taking off your soaking wet, sweaty sports bra, one of the nipple covers may come off with it, and fall on the bathroom floor without your knowledge. Then, you may accidentally step on the nipple cover and squeal with revulsion because you think you've just put your heel in dog vomit. 

Anyway...

I headed out to try to walk/jog two miles.  Just T-W-O simple little miles. 

Well now, that was an eye opener.  Not only is my cardio shot to hell, but I need a sports bra for my hoagie roll.  And my trusty shorts are too tight and the sleeves on my big girl t-shirt are too long, and my knees and calves were like "HOLY SHIT WOMAN?!?!?!?!?!  Are you carrying a sack of potatoes up there???"

The only good part was that it started raining, and I absolutely LOVE running in the rain.  Not that you can tell in my post run selfie. I was pretty dismayed...

 

So, it looks like I'm starting over from scratch.  Which, I guess, is okay because what else do I have to do right? The difference between starting four years ago and now is that I know I can do whatever it is I set my kooky little mind to.  As long as my body holds up, it's only a mental game.  My only goal at the moment is to run one leg of the Rock n Roll Relay in November... uh, and get my happy ass back into my size 10's.

Tonight I made it three miles, and felt a little better about things...

Slow and easy, slow and easy. What's that thing that Dory says?

Okay Dory, I can do that. 

 I'll just keep trying...

 

 

 

As The Fat Roll Turns: The 'Oh Crap It's Almost Summer' Edition...

Dangit!!  Dangit dangit danGIT!!

Six months ago, I told myself that I'd be bikini ready by January 1st (Polar Bear Plunge Day)... um, nope.

Three months ago, I told myself I'd be bikini ready by St. Patty's Day.

Last month, I told myself I'd be bikini ready by Spring Break, which is now in three freakin' days.  (April 18th)

And am I bikini ready?  OH HELL NO.

Ah, so maybe the ol' belly doesn't look SO bad, right??? WRONG.  You should see what happens when I exhale, or bend, or scratch my ass.  It's not pretty.

After a fall and winter of minimal excercise and maximum wine intake, I'm feeling less than pleased with my Tybee preparedness plan.  So about a month ago, I started dragging my ass back to the gym (oh, it's literally right next door... but my driveway never seems more like no man's land than when I have to cross it to get to the gym.  I'm like Snoopy, crawling through the field of doom.)  

For a month now, I've been huffing and puffing, lifting weights and making itsy bitsy baby steps of progress.  But I had a feeling that I could be doing more, and working harder.  It's just so stinkin' hard to force yourself to do something day after day that isn't exactly, um... fun.  

So I finally decided that I needed to bring in some outside help... the big guns... My friend, who happens to be a fitness trainer, Dana.  

She sort of a total bad ass.

And let me tell you, not only does she have an awesome bag of tricks for mixing up a fitness routine, but she has the natural born talent for instructing and inspiring people.  After nearly two hours of Dana motivating us with new techniques and her positive energy and passion for fitness, Mendy and I were chomping at the bit to get our sweat on.

Sure, we already knew that we have to change up our everyday routines so we can keep challenging our bodies, but we needed ideas about how to do this. (We get bored pretty easy, which is why we gave up on our Insanity and T25 plans... they rock, but jumping around in front of the t.v every day got old for us.)

We wanted some fresh new ways to get our sweat on, and Dana definitely delivered! She showed us how to work out using a Bosu ball (omg! Game changer!) 

And stretchy bands, and the TRX system, and these little glider plastic plates that look like the things you slip under furniture to make it easier to move, and more.  Plus, she gave us advice on how to do better with the tools we already have, like jacking up the incline on the treadmill and walking backwards (Hello quads!)

(By the way, I recommend starting on a VERY slow speed, like 1.2, before working your way up to 2... it's an extremely strange feeling to walk backwards, or sideways while going uphill on a machine on which you've only ever faced forward.)

And she challenged us to increase our weights (yes chicks CAN lift heavy without becoming bulky man beasts!)  Mendy had been feeling like she wasn't working her legs and booty hard enough, and sure enough, by the time Dana was done with her (mentally), she was ready to add THIRTY pounds to the squats she'd been doing.

What?  Squat 95 lbs thirty times?  Okay!

 

And so what if she can't walk today?  Her ass is gonna look AWESOME!  

Throughout the meeting/consult/whatever you call it, I scribbled notes as fast as I could, and Mendy made a shopping list.  (We love new gadgets.)

But even more important than the excercises and techniques, Dana encouraged us to replace our negative self talk with positive words and thoughts.  Instead of saying, "Ugh, I've gotta go torture myself in the gym." I need to say, "Yay! I'm lucky to have another day to make myself a healthier person."

Or instead of staring into space between sets or finding a sudden interest in a hangnail and picking at it for five minutes, I need to say, "I have an hour in here, and the time's gonna pass whether I'm sitting here making excuses and doing nothing, or I'm sweating and becoming a healthier person... what's it gonna be?"

Well duh.  I should know that.  But we all know how easy it is to grab hold of the negative and wrap ourselves up in it like grandma's quilt.  And one of the biggest ways I let negativity rule me is through my bathroom scale.  While listening to me yammer about my weight woes, Dana noticed that I said that I was proud of myself for having a good week (no booze, minimal McFlurries, good sweaty excercise) but when I weighed myself, I was still the same (and it is NOT a nice number.)   Seeing that weight on the scale deflated me and made me feel yucky.  

Dana said, "Why do you let that scale do that to you?  If you had a friend who slammed you on the ground after you told her what a great week you'd been having, you'd get rid of that friend, right?"  (Okay, I'm paraphrasing.)  "So WHY do you let the scale do that to you?"

 She's right.  The scale is an evil bitch.  So I took her advice and pitched it.

I'm going to try to just focus on becoming stronger.  I'm not going to obsess about a number on a scale.  Can I do it?  Stay tuned... 

***DISCLAIMER***  Please don't think I'm preaching about excercise, or trying to sound like I'm some fitness loving psycho.  I'm just me.  Almost 42, a little soft around the middle, and trying to find a way to feel okay about myself while drinking beer on the beach all summer.  The end.  ;)

(And Dana, please don't kill me for putting your sweaty gym pic on here.  Haha, I lurv ya!)

Tybee 10K Recap...

(We should probably call this one the 'Fat Roll 500', because both I and my Hottie Neighbor, MJ, were in LESS than stellar shape for it.)

So it goes like this... 

Mendy calls me up. She's at the packet pickup for the Bridge Run, and she says we'll get a discount if we go ahead and sign up for Tybee.  Oh yay.   We commit to running the half marathon (a pleasant 13.1 miles) and she registers us both.  We. Are. Stupid.

We think this is going to motivate us to train.  We print off running plans, make promises to increase our mileage, and lose those few extra pounds we've both accumulated through the fall and winter months.

But none of this actually happens.   I struggle with pushing my (hopefully healed) stress fracture.  Mendy struggles with her feet... WHY must they hurt so badly?  Even with her new Adidas from Fleet Feet?!!?! 

We basically whine and bitch and gripe our way through workouts.  We admit tha we've eaten Whoppers and Cinnabons.  It's freaking awful.

And all the while, the Tybee Runfest weekend is creeping up on us.  

I run 6 miles.  I say, "Oh we can TOTALLY run/walk this 13.1... no problemo."  Mendy buys in.  (The fact that she actually subscribes to my hairbrained schemes is one of the MANY reasons I love her.)

We become resigned to our fate.   We're going to spend 3 hours running and walking (emphasis on the walking) through the back streets of Tybee Island.  But dammit, we are gonna get our medal. (Medals are important to me.  Sorry.)

And then something happens.

The Thursday before the race, I find myself in Mendy's kitchen for our usual Thirsty Thursday cocktails, and I am saying, "You know, I think I can be talked into dropping down to the 10K instead of the half marathon."  And she is like, "OH HELL YES."  And then there we were. 

The realization finally hit me that it was entirely possible that I would injure myself if I pushed it to do the 13.1.  And for what?   A damn hunk of medal on a ribbon?  I can make one of those myself!  So we decided it would be prudent (something we rarely do) to actually run something that wouldn't kill us. 

We spent the night on Tybee at the Desoto Beach Club so we wouldn't have to wake up at 4:30am to drive down there.  We had margaritas and crab legs and watched reruns of Modern Family until we both passed out. 

And then, when our anxious bowels wouldn't let us stay in bed anymore, we rose in the darkness and pooped and ate bananas and dressed for the super cold weather we'd expected.

Oh but wait.

Neither of us expected to open our hotel room door and see POURING ASS RAIN. 

WTF??

Yep.  It was dark.  It was freezing.  It was raining.  AWESOME.

We contemplated just packing up and going to Sonic for a healthy breakfast, but being the gluttons for punishment that we are, we ended up driving Mendy's car down and getting as close to the the start as possible.  Once we were parked, and we could see the other runners warming up and stretching, we figured what the hell.  We'd just get soaked.  What's a little pneumonia between friends, right?

So we paid our meter, said our prayers, posted our status on FB and wandered to the starting line.  It didn't take long before we heard  the starter's horn and we were off!

As usual, we waited until the absolute LAST minute to decide on a race strategy.  I told Mendy that I thought I'd like to run the whole thing instead of run/walking.  It would be super slow, like a 12 minute mile pace, but I was hoping to do it.  She said she'd suffer through, and we headed out.

Sure enough, the slow pace allowed us to chat and laugh and run... it was rather glorious.   We contemplated slowing to a walk at the 3 mile mark, but ended up pushing through.

It was SUCH a great run.  I know there are folks who might laugh at my happiness about actually running a full 6.2, but whatever.  It's taken a long time for me to get to this point.  I was comfortable, but I still felt the weariness and pain of pushing myself to the limit.  We finished in 1 hour and 13+ minutes, which was only a minute longer than my personal best in the bridge 10k in 2012.  After dealing with the stupid stress fracture, gaining 10+ pounds, and trying to rediscover my running mojo, I feel like this was a damn good result. 

I'm SO proud of us!!!

A mile's a mile's a mile. And we ran 6.2 of them Saturday morning in the cold and the rain.  It was beautiful.   And I love you MJ.  Thanks for being my wingman, even when it's pretty much a dumbass situation.  I love you!!!!!

Tybee 10K 2014 DONE.  And a big fat HELLO to Jeremy and Liticia.  It's so fun seeing old friends... even in the COLD ASS RAIN.  :)

There are no guarantees in life, but dammit, I can pretty much promise you that if my MJ and I go into it together, we'll find at least one rainbow and possibly a unicorn.  It's how we roll... strippin' out of a soaking wet sports bra in broad daylight and all. 

 

 

 

 

What's next?

It's no secret.  I spent July through September wallowing in self pity about my bitchy calf, eating 3000 calories of shitty food a day, and drinking more wine than the Real Housewives of Orange County.

I've also developed a nasty habit of napping during the day, and rekindled an even nastier addiction to Cheetos.  (I blame my childhood.)

I weigh more now than when I gave birth to my child.  HOLY CRAPCAKES.

Oh but thank God, I forced myself to do the Rock n Roll last weekend... all 157 pounds of me,  because somewhere in those 13 miles I rediscovered my mojo.  My love of running, feeling strong and healthy, that I hadn't figured out until my 38th year of life, was reawakened.  Thank the LORD! 

These last few months of slackassedness have made me feel blah, bloated and beleaguered.  I've been slapped in the face with the realization that even though working out/running/stretching SUCKS, the alternative is even worse.

So, what better way to jumpstart my mojo than to commit to another race, right? 

Hello Charleston Half Marathon.  I'll be seeing you in January!  Woot woot!! 

Yes. I am HALF crazy!  

My honey has embraced his role as a half marathoner hubby, so all is good.

Oh yeah, let's go ahead and add another bit o' bling to the rack!

Rock n Roll Half Marathon: Slow and Steady Gets 'er Done. :)

We might should refer to this year's RnR as the WnR... WALK and Roll half marathon. Because at a blazing 13+ minute pace, Mendy the Hottie Neighbor and I crossed the finish line of our 4th 13.1 at the 2:52 mark.  Ha! 

Of course, if you're a blog follower, then you've doubtless heard my ranting and whining about my stupid calf injury... a tibial stress fracture that kept me out of my Asics for more than two months. And poor Mendy's knees were cracking like celery stalks after our masochistic pursuit of Insanity workouts. So, even though we'd registered for this year's RnR half marathon at last year's expo, we were skeptical that it would be a reality for us.  In fact, I had two different trainers advise me to leave this one alone.

But then I got a wild hair.  And Mendy is loyal to a fault, (and had probably been thinking the same thing).  So when I said, "Ya know, maybe we could just try to do the RnR... even if it's at a walking pace."  She was like, "I'm IN!"  (Always my precious eager beaver, she is.)

We immediately began an expedited training mission, and managed to build up to a ten mile run/walk two weeks ago.  My ten SUCKED.  Mendy's were GLORIOUS (bitch).  I'd resigned myself to a 3:15 goal of finishing. 

So the expo rolled into town.  There was packet pickup, and upon reviewing our original registration, we saw how optimistic we were last year that we'd be able to finish in 2:15.  That time put us in the 12th corral.  We decided to stay in it for shits and giggles. 

And then it was race morning.  Ugh.  The hardest part of any race day is getting myself out of the bed at 5am.  My dogs didn't even get up to go out.  Ruby the super Pom basically flipped me off and curled her tail over her eyes to block out the light.  Diva.

I opted for an all black ensemble, and my calf compression sleeves... to help hide my fat roll, and give me some extra support, respectively.

Getting downtown was a dream because our pal Sid taxied us down in the Silver Rocket.  We were joined by Jill, who was running her first FULL marathon today (she's a badass, finishing just a few minutes over the 5 hour mark!)  And before we knew it, we were standing in the chilly morning, in a sea of zombie-like, sneaker-clad, masochists like ourselves.

We're damned sexy in our Goodwill outerwear.  Meow.

Thank God it's not a beauty contest.

We milled around with the crowds, took dumbass pictures and waited for our turn in the wave start. 

 The folks in our corral were chatty, and we met a super cute little running duet named Megan and Elizabeth.  They're in their twenties, adorable, and were doing the full 26.2. 

As the corrals in front of us took their turns at the starting line, we had a panicky moment when we realized that Mendy's earbuds had given up the ghost for no reason other than pure bad luck.  But she sucked it up and committed to three hours of torture sans tunes.  Poor friend.  I'm pretty sure this is where I was supposed to give up my own music.  After all, she did it for me last year.  But I am evil.  And greedy.  And she had new shoe inserts that were as soft as clouds wrapped in kittens, so she didn't really need music too, right?

We decided to run a song, walk a song (via my brand spankin' new Ipod... I lost mine last week, wth?) and took off with our fellow corral twelvers at about 7:30am.  I ADORE this race course.  Miles 1- 3 fly by like a fart in the wind (literally... the westside has a tendency to be a bit stinky b/c it's the industrial district.) And miles 5 - 8 meander through beautiful downtown Savannah. 

People line the roads with signs and beers and bloody marys.  Not to mention the lovely line-free porta potties in one of the squares that Mendy spotted out of the corner of her eye.  GLORIOUS.

And then miles 9-11 rock through Gordonston, such a supportive neighborhood filled with onlookers ringing bells and holding signs.  It's so fun!  There was another porta potty stop for us at mile 11, and then we were in the home stretch.  My calf felt excellent, Mendy's knees were smooth as silk.  Our feet were hurting, and my lower back was expressing its displeasure with the extra TEN FRICKIN' POUNDS I've gained, but other than that, life was great!  I think it had something to do with the fact that I knew I was almost done, where this time last year, I was just branching off to cover another 15 miles on the full marathon course. 

I love turning the last corner onto Drayton and seeing that finish line!

We were both really tired, and our lack of training was showing loud and clear, but we finished happily with our 2:52. 

Injuries be gone!

There's not much better than conquering a challenge with your bestie.  I love my little mustang!

Such a good one.  Yay us! :)

 

 

 

Ten Miles, and a Shit Ton of F-Bombs (Beware)

Well, today was the day I've been dreading.  An obligatory ten mile run, do or die, stood before me with its hands on hips, shaking its miserable head. 

I did NOT want to do it. 

This time last year, I had a twenty miler under my belt.  WTF?

Whatever.  The Rock n Roll half mary is nearly two weeks away, and I had to get the mileage done.  So I saddled up my kicks, threw on my badass Bondi band, strapped on the Ipod and tried to be happy.

Did I feel happy?  Hell no.

I tried to be a good sport through the first couple of miles, but by the time I turned onto Schley, I was grumbling pretty bad.  But my favorite "Hall of Fame" song came on, and I gave myself a pep talk.  It went something like this:

Who gives a shit if you hate this road. Shut the fuck up and just fucking do it.  You whine that you miss it when youre not running, you love it when youre done, and you cry when you hear about other people doing it.  You know what you want. You kow you love it. So shut the fuck up and rejoice.  Rejoice.  REJOICE!! You move those legs without regret until the JOB IS DONE. Love it. Live it.  ReFUCKINGjoice!

Oh. Well when you put it that way. Let's get to steppin'!

And sure enough, as soon as I gave myself a little come to Jesus, things started to feel better.  It almost always works this way.  And by the time I was into mile three I had a much better attitude.  I was groovin' to Chaka Kahn (sp?), the sky was Kentucky blue, my legs had finally stretched enough to not feel like rubber bands, and I was groovin'.  GROOVIN'!

And so it went for the next couple of miles.  My Mom called, Big Dave called, I chatted and walked, then ran, then walked some more. 

By the time mile six rolled around, I was resigned to my fate.  My mind was blank, with the exception of a looping inner dialogue trying to figure out how many miles I had left, calculating different routes to make the process seem less horrific.  Should I go around the Honeybee loop twice?  Or just go down Pedaphile Row and then circle through the Plantation a second time?  Which way has LESS HILLS for God's sake????

I took a bath in Big Dave's former boss' garden hose.  Guzzled some suspect water, and moved on.  Then all of a sudden I was in the 8th mile.  Hell yeah. This is when you must accept the fact that no matter what, the only way home is to pound the pavement for another two miles, because you were smart enough to continually move AWAY from home or else you might be tempted to take a shortcut back to the DHU.

Ugh.  My favorite motto kept popping out of my mouth... JUST FUCKING DO IT.  Simple.  Effective.  And oh so eloquent and tasteful.

And hello mile 9!  Jamie's Crying is streaming through my earbuds as I start to plan my victory lap.  In about a mile, I'll see the marsh pirates, which mean there's only a half mile left. Hell yes.  Giddy up.

There they are.  Run. FUCKING RUN.

I forced myself to give it everything I had and cruised into my driveway at 10.2 miles after 2 hours and 19 minutes.  Good God.  That was a gut check.  I haven't trained enough.  I know it.  My 41 year old body is PISSED. 

But I did it.  Ten miles, in the books baby!  Next stop, 13.1 on November 9th when I slowly (Oh SOOO slowly) but surely earn my medal.  I hate this.  I love this.  I sadly think I need this. 

What kind of masochistic freak am I? (Don't answer that.) 

;)

Hello Six...

In my efforts to run from scratch, thanks to my gimpy tibia who felt the need to fracture and be a bitch, I hit the road for my longest run/walk in months.  Six miles was on the agenda.

Sigh... I remember when six was considered a rest day. This time last year, I was hitting some serious mileage as I counted down the days to my first marathon.  My, how times change.  Now,  Mendy the Hottie Neighbor and I are just hoping to FINISH the Rock n Roll Savannah half marathon next month.  Her knee is being fickle, and my calf hasn't made up its mind whether it wants to cooperate yet.

Whine whine cry bitch fart whine... whatEVER.  I laced up my trusty Asics and headed out for a proud six today.  I'm walking for 3/4 each mile and running the last quarter.  The wind was whipping, the rain was threatening, and I was LOVING it!!!  I stopped for a couple of quick pics with our neighborhood pirates...

The high tide had them gasping for breaths!  (And me too...)

I'm really not sure who  looks better in this pic.

Six miles seemed like a serious chunk of effort and time, so I decided to change up my old route to trick my not-so-brainy brain into not worrying about the mileage.  And it worked... thankfully. 

Sure, at mile 2.5 I was not so subtly reminded by my bowels that I hadn't properly disposed of last nights wine and cheese... and at mile 3.5, I was a little frightened by the memory of last year's ASS CRAMP when I saw the exact spot where I buckled over and prayed for God's mercy as waves of pain rolled through my nether region...

I said a prayer of thanks that ass cramps are rare and kept on cruising.

Before I knew it, I was tootling my way through my fifth mile and feeling like I could have definitely done more. 

It was lovely.  Absolutely lovely.  Boob sweat, slow ass pace, turtle pokin' and all.