I was watching TV last night and caught part of an ad for some sort of exercise equipment, and I had an epiphany - about treadmills, ellipticals and stationary bikes. My dislike for them. My inability to use them, that is.
The word bouncing around my brain was HAMSTERS!
I'm convinced that treadmills, ellipticals, stairmasters and stationary bikes are hamster wheels. Every time I get on one of them I feel like a rodent on a squeaky effing wheel! No thanks.
Of course, my stubbornness about this costs me days of running; if it's raining, I'm pretty much screwed.
And speaking of running, I have just added to my monstrous itunes collection. With the excuse of needing more running tunes I lazily browsed the online music store (candy store for me), nonchalantly buying everything that took my fancy. About $42 later I had a brand new ipod folder. On today's run I will definitely be dancing to the beat of some different drums, babyee.
(Note to self: Teengirlchild must never learn how many songs I purchased in that one sitting!)
Mmmmm chocolate flavored coffee (favorite) and only myself and the dogs up. Of course, that won't last because monsterdog has found her favorite toy - a huge orange rubber thing with a very LOUD squeaker. It squeaks when bitten, chewed, thrown, stomped on and shaken. Apparently.
update later - just as I typed the above, I hear hubby up. Damn dog!
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
Mind over body
Yesterday's run was hard.
It was the very same run as the day before, but for some reason I was dragging. I had to REALLY push myself. I wanted to stop and walk several times. The problem with that was that I was in a bit of a rush, needing to get home and get showered and ready for a 7 p.m. meeting.
But I made it. Again. And to make up for my shitty time I sprinted the last leg (my street), which I now know was a mere .1122 miles, according to gmap-pedometer. Damn! I thought it was a bit longer. Sigh.
I seem to have those days about once a week. I don't know why. I wish I did. I hate feeling weak.
I need to be strong. Always. Tough-as-nails. Nothing breaks me. I am [strong] woman. See me survive.
Ahhh, but these baby steps are getting me there. Closer to my goal. I'm slowly letting go of the old, the bad and the ugly. Pfffffffffffffftttttttt
Yes, I'm going to be fine - just fine.
Everyday Is A Winding Road - Sheryl Crow
It was the very same run as the day before, but for some reason I was dragging. I had to REALLY push myself. I wanted to stop and walk several times. The problem with that was that I was in a bit of a rush, needing to get home and get showered and ready for a 7 p.m. meeting.
But I made it. Again. And to make up for my shitty time I sprinted the last leg (my street), which I now know was a mere .1122 miles, according to gmap-pedometer. Damn! I thought it was a bit longer. Sigh.
I seem to have those days about once a week. I don't know why. I wish I did. I hate feeling weak.
I need to be strong. Always. Tough-as-nails. Nothing breaks me. I am [strong] woman. See me survive.
Ahhh, but these baby steps are getting me there. Closer to my goal. I'm slowly letting go of the old, the bad and the ugly. Pfffffffffffffftttttttt
Yes, I'm going to be fine - just fine.
I used to ride with a vending machine repairman.
He said he’s been down this road
more than twice.
He was high on intellectualism.
I’ve never been there,
but the brochure looks nice.
Jump in, let’s go.
Lay back, enjoy the show.
Everybody gets high,
everybody gets low.
These are the days when anything goes.
Every day is a winding road.
I get a little bit closer.....
Every day is a faded sign.
I get a little bit closer
to feelin’ fine.....
Everyday Is A Winding Road - Sheryl Crow
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Blogger's Cramp
I figure if there's a "writer's cramp" there must be a "blogger's cramp" too, right?
I feel like I have nothing uplifting to discuss today - even to myself.
I realize that I've been bitching far too much lately, and I intend to be more mindful of that as I blog. I'll try to be more pleasant and happy and keep future bitching to a minimum.
Coughbullshitcough.
Maybe once a month I'll dedicate a blog to bitching. But gosh, where will I jot down all my daily bitches while I wait for "bitch day?" I wouldn't want to forget one! By George, I think I've got it! I'll have "bitch day" once a week instead of once a month. That will keep it more managable and will keep me from exploding. We wouldn't want an explosion.... So what day do I bitch, and from where do I begin counting? Hmmmmm
I'll just keep nursing my slow leak for now: Ppffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff
Baby steps, AtlantaMom, baby steps.
My running self is already getting anxious about the March 22 5K. I am scared shitless of running in A RACE - in front of PEOPLE - and of being OFFICIALLY TIMED.
I'm especially anxious now that I'm now doubting my own clocking of miles. Someone seemed shocked/impressed in a comment on a previous blog. That told me something was off! Please know that I'm not using a stopwatch, nor am I having a third party time me. (I should!) I've simply been checking the digital clock in my kitchen before I run out the front door, and then checking it again when I come in.
The 7-minute miles I "clocked" myself at were after a mere 3 mile run. Does that make it sound less good? Believe me when I say that I'm not fast. I never was a sprinter and, in fact, have always sucked at it. Endurance was always my mantra.
I found a 5k a full 20 days prior to the one I've already signed up for. It's in Athens, Georgia, which is about an hour from here (translate: I won't know anyone). Sneaky, obsessive me looked up last year's race results and found the top 3 times in my age group to be: (1) age 38 - 19:17.2; (2) age 36 - 25:00.0; (3) age 38 - 25:56.6
Something inside of me is screaming YOU CAN DO THIS! And by "do this" I really just mean place in the top three in my age group. I just don't want to embarrass myself...
Vienna – Billy Joel
I feel like I have nothing uplifting to discuss today - even to myself.
I realize that I've been bitching far too much lately, and I intend to be more mindful of that as I blog. I'll try to be more pleasant and happy and keep future bitching to a minimum.
Coughbullshitcough.
Maybe once a month I'll dedicate a blog to bitching. But gosh, where will I jot down all my daily bitches while I wait for "bitch day?" I wouldn't want to forget one! By George, I think I've got it! I'll have "bitch day" once a week instead of once a month. That will keep it more managable and will keep me from exploding. We wouldn't want an explosion.... So what day do I bitch, and from where do I begin counting? Hmmmmm
I'll just keep nursing my slow leak for now: Ppffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff
Baby steps, AtlantaMom, baby steps.
My running self is already getting anxious about the March 22 5K. I am scared shitless of running in A RACE - in front of PEOPLE - and of being OFFICIALLY TIMED.
I'm especially anxious now that I'm now doubting my own clocking of miles. Someone seemed shocked/impressed in a comment on a previous blog. That told me something was off! Please know that I'm not using a stopwatch, nor am I having a third party time me. (I should!) I've simply been checking the digital clock in my kitchen before I run out the front door, and then checking it again when I come in.
The 7-minute miles I "clocked" myself at were after a mere 3 mile run. Does that make it sound less good? Believe me when I say that I'm not fast. I never was a sprinter and, in fact, have always sucked at it. Endurance was always my mantra.
I found a 5k a full 20 days prior to the one I've already signed up for. It's in Athens, Georgia, which is about an hour from here (translate: I won't know anyone). Sneaky, obsessive me looked up last year's race results and found the top 3 times in my age group to be: (1) age 38 - 19:17.2; (2) age 36 - 25:00.0; (3) age 38 - 25:56.6
Something inside of me is screaming YOU CAN DO THIS! And by "do this" I really just mean place in the top three in my age group. I just don't want to embarrass myself...
Where’s the fire,
what’s the hurry about?
You better cool it off
before you burn it out.
You got so much to do
and only so many hours in a day...
hey hey hey
But you know that when the truth is told
that you can get what you want
or you can just get old.
You’re gonna kick off
before you even get halfway through...
oooh when will you realize
Vienna waits for you....
Slow down, you’re doin’ fine.
You can’t be everything you wanna be
before your time.
Although it’s so romantic
on the borderline tonight...tonight
Too bad, but it’s the laugh you lead;
you’re so ahead of yourself
that you forgot what you need.
Though you can see when you’re wrong,
you know you can’t always see when you’re right.
You’re right.
You got your passion,
you got your pride,
but don’t you know that only fools are satisfied
dream on, but don’t imagine they’ll all come true.
oooh when will you realize
Vienna waits for you....
Vienna – Billy Joel
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
No pain, no gain
"If little labour, little are our gains;
Man’s fortunes are according to his pains."
Robert Herrick (1591-1674)
As is usual, and perhaps inevitable, the original has been butchered, but our popular version amounts to the same thing, really. That said, I'm gaining, baybee, I'm gaining. Everything hurts. Ahhh, well at least I can be certain that I'm alive, right?
Yesterday's route du jour was 3 miles. I really pushed that 3 miles such that my pace was about 7 minute miles. Not too shabby, but it won't win me any medals either. That's ok; I'm getting there. Very slowly, but getting there all the same. I suppose I could detour into the slow-but-steady-wins-the-race "Hare vs. the Tortoise" fable, but we all know it, so I'll skip it.
*We are interrupting today's blog to let said blogger bitch*
Ahem
Co-workers.
I have a co-worker whose office is directly next to mine. In fact, we share a wall. She's been here for approximately three years. I loved her to death for the first year or so, but at some point I began to feel some resentment toward her work ethic. That resentment has grown into resentment toward her person for some hideous and completely annoying habits.
First, her timesheet reads "Arrive: 8:30 a.m., Depart: 5:00 p.m." nearly every day. Interestingly, she rarely arrives before 9:30 and almost always leaves at around 4:00. She evidently feels above the laws that be, for whatever reason. She's salaried, so she gets paid for full-time work. That pisses me off. I'm not sure why it's even my business, but I resent it.
Second, she smokes all day every day. "Where's D?" I'm asked constantly. She's always in the smoking area. The woman gets paid to smoke. And that pisses me off too.
Now, to be completely frank and open to myself (for a blog is really a diary, right?), I was a smoker. In fact, I smoked for years. And I have D to thank for my quitting. Let me explain.
About a year or so ago, D reported that she had been diagnosed with lung cancer. She was promptly scheduled for surgery to remove the cancer, which was a success. She then took extended leave to rehabilitate. All was a success. She had dodged a bullet! It was miraculous! And what do you think happened to her smoking habit? Why nothing. She continued as if nothing had happened. That fact made me so sick that I quit right then and there. In the moments after learning that she had resumed smoking after BEATING DEATH I lost all respect for this woman. Suddenly she sickened me. But thanks to her I'm a non-smoker for over a year....
[Yes, all the years of martial arts, aerobics, etc. were done while smoking. And yes, I do know how stupid that was. As my Dad so eloquently put it, "That's like pissing in the wind."]
Further, this woman coughs, gags and snorts all day long. Every day. I don't mean sniffing, either, like with a runny nose. I mean she SNORTS. As in from-the-diaphram snorting. It's the most disgusting sound any one person could make, in my opinion. I'd rather hear the fat guy across the hall fart all day than hear her snorting. Over the last year or so the snorting has increased, such that it's evidently a habit. I liken it to a chinese torture. Just as the little drop of water between the eyes is fairly benign and unpainful at first, but grows and grows until it can kill.....her constant snorting has made me, quite frankly, insane.
- Thanks to Wikipedia for the following on Chinese water torture-
She frequently calls an hour or more after she is scheduled to have come in, only to say she won't be in. WTF? Who the hell does she think she is, anyway?
Now, the question that begs asking is this: Do I tattle? Is it my business to tell someone? Or do I assume that one day, at some point, her transgressions will come to light without any help from me? If I take the latter route my nose will stay clean and I will not be associated with anything having to do with her demise. On the other hand, If I know about her lies but say nothing, does that make me guilty? Certainly there are many instances where failure to come forth with knowledge makes one guilty.
What to do, what to do....
All You Zombies – The Hooters
Man’s fortunes are according to his pains."
Robert Herrick (1591-1674)
As is usual, and perhaps inevitable, the original has been butchered, but our popular version amounts to the same thing, really. That said, I'm gaining, baybee, I'm gaining. Everything hurts. Ahhh, well at least I can be certain that I'm alive, right?
Yesterday's route du jour was 3 miles. I really pushed that 3 miles such that my pace was about 7 minute miles. Not too shabby, but it won't win me any medals either. That's ok; I'm getting there. Very slowly, but getting there all the same. I suppose I could detour into the slow-but-steady-wins-the-race "Hare vs. the Tortoise" fable, but we all know it, so I'll skip it.
*We are interrupting today's blog to let said blogger bitch*
Ahem
Co-workers.
I have a co-worker whose office is directly next to mine. In fact, we share a wall. She's been here for approximately three years. I loved her to death for the first year or so, but at some point I began to feel some resentment toward her work ethic. That resentment has grown into resentment toward her person for some hideous and completely annoying habits.
First, her timesheet reads "Arrive: 8:30 a.m., Depart: 5:00 p.m." nearly every day. Interestingly, she rarely arrives before 9:30 and almost always leaves at around 4:00. She evidently feels above the laws that be, for whatever reason. She's salaried, so she gets paid for full-time work. That pisses me off. I'm not sure why it's even my business, but I resent it.
Second, she smokes all day every day. "Where's D?" I'm asked constantly. She's always in the smoking area. The woman gets paid to smoke. And that pisses me off too.
Now, to be completely frank and open to myself (for a blog is really a diary, right?), I was a smoker. In fact, I smoked for years. And I have D to thank for my quitting. Let me explain.
About a year or so ago, D reported that she had been diagnosed with lung cancer. She was promptly scheduled for surgery to remove the cancer, which was a success. She then took extended leave to rehabilitate. All was a success. She had dodged a bullet! It was miraculous! And what do you think happened to her smoking habit? Why nothing. She continued as if nothing had happened. That fact made me so sick that I quit right then and there. In the moments after learning that she had resumed smoking after BEATING DEATH I lost all respect for this woman. Suddenly she sickened me. But thanks to her I'm a non-smoker for over a year....
[Yes, all the years of martial arts, aerobics, etc. were done while smoking. And yes, I do know how stupid that was. As my Dad so eloquently put it, "That's like pissing in the wind."]
Further, this woman coughs, gags and snorts all day long. Every day. I don't mean sniffing, either, like with a runny nose. I mean she SNORTS. As in from-the-diaphram snorting. It's the most disgusting sound any one person could make, in my opinion. I'd rather hear the fat guy across the hall fart all day than hear her snorting. Over the last year or so the snorting has increased, such that it's evidently a habit. I liken it to a chinese torture. Just as the little drop of water between the eyes is fairly benign and unpainful at first, but grows and grows until it can kill.....her constant snorting has made me, quite frankly, insane.
- Thanks to Wikipedia for the following on Chinese water torture-
What is called the "Chinese water torture" was a torture described by [the Italian] Hippolytus de Marsiliis in the 16th century that was supposed to drive its victim insane with the stress of water dripping on a part of the forehead for a very long time. It may also be characterized by the inconsistent pattern of water drips. The desire for the human brain to make a pattern of the timing between the drops will also cause eventual insanity to set in.
She frequently calls an hour or more after she is scheduled to have come in, only to say she won't be in. WTF? Who the hell does she think she is, anyway?
Now, the question that begs asking is this: Do I tattle? Is it my business to tell someone? Or do I assume that one day, at some point, her transgressions will come to light without any help from me? If I take the latter route my nose will stay clean and I will not be associated with anything having to do with her demise. On the other hand, If I know about her lies but say nothing, does that make me guilty? Certainly there are many instances where failure to come forth with knowledge makes one guilty.
What to do, what to do....
All you zombies hide your faces
all you people in the street
all you sittin’ in high places
the piece is gonna fall on you
All You Zombies – The Hooters
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
The masochistic me
Another day and another new route. Yep, I'm the queen of new routes lately. Can't seem to get enough of them. I suppose in a way I'm trying to trick my body into running better, longer, faster. And why? Why am I even running? I give myself that old familiar shrugIdunnoshrug I used to give my parents when I was a teen.
Why indeed.
I didn't miss the bus or the train (and the fact that I don't take either has no bearing on this soapbox).
No one, other than the three people in my immediate family, really knows I'm running, so I'm not impressing anyone. I haven't run any races (yet), so I'm certainly not winning any medals or money.
So why?
I'm being chased! I'm running for my life - from age, a slowing metabolism, weight gain, poor circulation, loss of muscle mass, stress, sleeplessness and excuses.
And I'm chasing - strength, endurance, cardiovascular fitness (omigod did I just use the word "cardiovascular in a sentence?"), increased metabolism, weight loss, muscle tone and restful nights. It's a race against time, and oh yes, I will win this race.
And since it's just us friends, I should admit that I want the slim, sleek, fit machine of a body I used to have, but took for granted. "A Hot Mama" - that's what I wanna be. I'll buy the tee shirt. And I'll proudly prance around wearing it - all through the house.
*We apologize for that interruption and we now return to the previously scheduled show*
The new route is nice, and I'll repeat that one today. The worst part about this route for me is the face time on a VERY busy road. Most of the route meanders around a beautiful golf course neighborhood, but it ends on a traffic-laden road with a 4-way stop light.
To know me is to know that I'm very private - especially with my pain. Having to run FACING the traffic (and by "traffic" I mean a good 50+ cars) on the way back home was hard. I was horribly, frighteningly exposed. I felt like I was running down the road naked [read: nekkid]. I wondered if my arms were flailing about, or if my legs looked unstable, or if I was running like a geek. I wondered if the people in their cars could see my butt cheeks flapping with each stride, because god knows I could feel them. I wondered, because I notice runners when I'm in the car. I notice when someone is running so slow that the McDonald's-parking-lot-beggar-lady with one crutch passes easily. I notice when someone has a silly-looking gait, or if their knees hit with each step. And I laugh. Not aloud, of course, but inside. Deep inside, in my secret "neener neener" place.
I had to talk myself through my stage fright. "Look straight ahead. Don't look at them. Look straight ahead. Turn up the music. Look straight ahead. 1, 2 running shoe. 3, 4 this hurts more. 5, 6 don't get sick. 7, 8 doing great. 9, 10 home again. Almost there. Look straight ahead. Fat ass fat ass fat ass..."
And finally I could see the road from which my street branches. Home free. I did it. I DID IT!
I knew I could I knew I could I knew I could.
Lose Yourself - Eminem
Why indeed.
I didn't miss the bus or the train (and the fact that I don't take either has no bearing on this soapbox).
No one, other than the three people in my immediate family, really knows I'm running, so I'm not impressing anyone. I haven't run any races (yet), so I'm certainly not winning any medals or money.
So why?
I'm being chased! I'm running for my life - from age, a slowing metabolism, weight gain, poor circulation, loss of muscle mass, stress, sleeplessness and excuses.
And I'm chasing - strength, endurance, cardiovascular fitness (omigod did I just use the word "cardiovascular in a sentence?"), increased metabolism, weight loss, muscle tone and restful nights. It's a race against time, and oh yes, I will win this race.
And since it's just us friends, I should admit that I want the slim, sleek, fit machine of a body I used to have, but took for granted. "A Hot Mama" - that's what I wanna be. I'll buy the tee shirt. And I'll proudly prance around wearing it - all through the house.
*We apologize for that interruption and we now return to the previously scheduled show*
The new route is nice, and I'll repeat that one today. The worst part about this route for me is the face time on a VERY busy road. Most of the route meanders around a beautiful golf course neighborhood, but it ends on a traffic-laden road with a 4-way stop light.
To know me is to know that I'm very private - especially with my pain. Having to run FACING the traffic (and by "traffic" I mean a good 50+ cars) on the way back home was hard. I was horribly, frighteningly exposed. I felt like I was running down the road naked [read: nekkid]. I wondered if my arms were flailing about, or if my legs looked unstable, or if I was running like a geek. I wondered if the people in their cars could see my butt cheeks flapping with each stride, because god knows I could feel them. I wondered, because I notice runners when I'm in the car. I notice when someone is running so slow that the McDonald's-parking-lot-beggar-lady with one crutch passes easily. I notice when someone has a silly-looking gait, or if their knees hit with each step. And I laugh. Not aloud, of course, but inside. Deep inside, in my secret "neener neener" place.
I had to talk myself through my stage fright. "Look straight ahead. Don't look at them. Look straight ahead. Turn up the music. Look straight ahead. 1, 2 running shoe. 3, 4 this hurts more. 5, 6 don't get sick. 7, 8 doing great. 9, 10 home again. Almost there. Look straight ahead. Fat ass fat ass fat ass..."
And finally I could see the road from which my street branches. Home free. I did it. I DID IT!
I knew I could I knew I could I knew I could.
Look, if you had one shot
or one opportunity
to seize everything you ever wanted
in one moment
would you capture it,
or just let it slip?
.....You better lose yourself in the music,
the moment, you own it,
you better never let it go
You only get one shot
do not miss your chance
don’t blow
this opportunity comes once in a lifetime..
Lose Yourself - Eminem
Monday, February 4, 2008
Keepin' it real
Saturday's run kicked my ass. Period.
I had mapped out a new route that was 4.5 miles. I kept it very close to home, which was my goal, and felt like it would be a pretty simple route.
The idea was that I'd run up (or is it down?) the long road running perpendicular to my own street. I would take each and every neighborhood road on the left side of that street, since all these were dead ends or horseshoe roads, I would run down each and back out again to the main road, which would exponentially increase the distance between my house and the end of that main road. The route would continue up the main road in this way until I reached the end, and then I'd turn around and run back home. Simple, right?
Turns out that almost every single one of those "little side roads" was a fairly steep hill. It was great running INTO them, as they were downhill, but of course I had to run back out, meaning I was running up a fairly steep incline. After the 4th or 5th "little side road" I thought I might die. I was having more than second thoughts about my great new route and I was having more than second thoughts about my running. I angrily told myself that I was nothing but a "poser," and I had no business pretending to be a runner.
In that weird, dazed state I daydreamed about having a heart attack and never making it back home. I passed a single black shoe (which looked remarkably like one of a pair I had donated to the American Kidney Fund last month) on the side of the road and imagined pieces of me being picked apart by scavengers; my running shoes, my ipod, my wedding rings, etc. The paper would have a write up about it, "Local mom dies of heart attack while on new running route." There would be some long-winded deal about how important it is to "stop when your body tells you," and how shocking that someone younger than the age of 40 would die of a heart attack....
Just then I noticed a woman walking her big and very hairy black dog. The dog must have been some sort of sheepdog, because its eyes were covered with long shaggy bangs. As I got closer I noticed that the dog saw me and stopped in its tracks. The lady tried and tried to get the dog to follow her (down one of the side roads), but instead the dog sat, allowing her to choke it with its leash. As I neared and the dog continued staring at me I said, "Gosh, do I look that bad?" And the lady replied, without missing a beat, "No, she thinks you look that good!" I laughed, thankful for the distraction. And ran past. I knew I looked like hell. I could feel it. And I'm sure the dog could sense it as well. It's been well documented that dogs can sense impending seizures, death, panic attacks, etc. Even this strange dog knew I was about to keel over.
My face was beet red; my hair had partly come free of the half ass pony tail I had thrown it into; I was wearing old, dirty cut off sweat pants and a shirt. I had just been daydreaming about my own death, caused by running. Mm hm I was looking good for sure.
But I did not stop. I was the Little Engine That Could, chugging "I think I can I think I can I think I can...."
When I finally made it back to my street I could only repeat, "thank god, thank god...." over and over. I had made it. I was done. It was over. Until the next time........
"I thought I could I thought I could I thought I could....."
What I am - Edie Brickell & The New Bohemians
I had mapped out a new route that was 4.5 miles. I kept it very close to home, which was my goal, and felt like it would be a pretty simple route.
The idea was that I'd run up (or is it down?) the long road running perpendicular to my own street. I would take each and every neighborhood road on the left side of that street, since all these were dead ends or horseshoe roads, I would run down each and back out again to the main road, which would exponentially increase the distance between my house and the end of that main road. The route would continue up the main road in this way until I reached the end, and then I'd turn around and run back home. Simple, right?
Turns out that almost every single one of those "little side roads" was a fairly steep hill. It was great running INTO them, as they were downhill, but of course I had to run back out, meaning I was running up a fairly steep incline. After the 4th or 5th "little side road" I thought I might die. I was having more than second thoughts about my great new route and I was having more than second thoughts about my running. I angrily told myself that I was nothing but a "poser," and I had no business pretending to be a runner.
In that weird, dazed state I daydreamed about having a heart attack and never making it back home. I passed a single black shoe (which looked remarkably like one of a pair I had donated to the American Kidney Fund last month) on the side of the road and imagined pieces of me being picked apart by scavengers; my running shoes, my ipod, my wedding rings, etc. The paper would have a write up about it, "Local mom dies of heart attack while on new running route." There would be some long-winded deal about how important it is to "stop when your body tells you," and how shocking that someone younger than the age of 40 would die of a heart attack....
Just then I noticed a woman walking her big and very hairy black dog. The dog must have been some sort of sheepdog, because its eyes were covered with long shaggy bangs. As I got closer I noticed that the dog saw me and stopped in its tracks. The lady tried and tried to get the dog to follow her (down one of the side roads), but instead the dog sat, allowing her to choke it with its leash. As I neared and the dog continued staring at me I said, "Gosh, do I look that bad?" And the lady replied, without missing a beat, "No, she thinks you look that good!" I laughed, thankful for the distraction. And ran past. I knew I looked like hell. I could feel it. And I'm sure the dog could sense it as well. It's been well documented that dogs can sense impending seizures, death, panic attacks, etc. Even this strange dog knew I was about to keel over.
My face was beet red; my hair had partly come free of the half ass pony tail I had thrown it into; I was wearing old, dirty cut off sweat pants and a shirt. I had just been daydreaming about my own death, caused by running. Mm hm I was looking good for sure.
But I did not stop. I was the Little Engine That Could, chugging "I think I can I think I can I think I can...."
When I finally made it back to my street I could only repeat, "thank god, thank god...." over and over. I had made it. I was done. It was over. Until the next time........
"I thought I could I thought I could I thought I could....."
I'm not aware of too many things
I know what I know, if you know what I mean
Philosophy is talk on the cereal box
religion is a smile on a doll
I'm not aware of too many things
I know what I know, if you know what I mean
Do ya?
Shove me in the shallow water
before I get too deep
What I am is what I am
are you what you are, or what?
What I am - Edie Brickell & The New Bohemians
Friday, February 1, 2008
Training for the impossible
Today I've braved work without cold medicine. I do declare (said in my most Scaret O'Hara-esque voice) that I have turned the corner on this thing (read: "thang"). In fact, I felt well enough for an easy run yesterday, but the weather didn't cooperate. It was so cold, dark and rainy that I decided against it. I'm sure the extra day off only helped to get me back on my feet. Today seems bleak as well, but so far it's only drizzling, and according to my handy dandy home page today will be "partly cloudy," with no precipitation mentioned.
On my lunch break yesterday I spent some time mapping out new running routes. Thanks to a fellow blogger-pal I now have a new tool: http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/ This thing (once you figure out how to get to your actual address) can be used to map out routes all around your city and calculates the distance(s) for you - distance between legs and total distance. I love it! I've worked out about 5 new routes now. Thanks again for this tip, Mary.
AND I let impulsivity get the better of me and I signed up for a 5k race on March 22. Something took over me and I just did it (thanks, Nike, for the idea to "just do it.") without much forethought. I've not run a race since I was on the track team in 9th grade! I figured that if I actually paid REAL money and had to put my REAL name on the paperwork, that I would go through with it. Of course I'm in NO shape to actually win a race like this, having had no official training for it. I've just been running on my own with no real goals, other than to run 3-5 miles at least 5 days per week.
To be honest, I'm scared shitless of running in an actual race. In fact, I'm not telling my family about it. I'll simply leave when I need to and tell them I'm going for a run - which is true - and then I'll return afterward. Of course, I'll probably finish last in my age group, but at least I will have proven to myself that I can run - and finish - a 5k race.
How many people actually place in their very first race? My main problem is that I'm so damned competitive. I expect far too much out of myself, really with everything, and I'm very hard on myself when I fail to live up to my own expectations. I'm scared that I'll go off like a shot, determined to be in the front of the pack, only to wimp out on the last leg. I have bad memories of doing just that in high school.
I just don't want to embarrass myself. That's all. I want to do better than I expect myself to. Is it so ridiculous to want to at least place in the top 10 in my age group? I know that's impossible, really, because I've just checked the 2007 5K rankings of my age group in Georgia. There is no way in hell I can compete with these people! The top ranking female in my age group ran a 17:21. That's so outrageous it makes me giggle! The 10th ranking female ran a 20:01; 20th ranked - 21:58.
Yep. I'm in trouble. It's time to train and train hard. I have 7 weeks.
Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is - Chicago
On my lunch break yesterday I spent some time mapping out new running routes. Thanks to a fellow blogger-pal I now have a new tool: http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/ This thing (once you figure out how to get to your actual address) can be used to map out routes all around your city and calculates the distance(s) for you - distance between legs and total distance. I love it! I've worked out about 5 new routes now. Thanks again for this tip, Mary.
AND I let impulsivity get the better of me and I signed up for a 5k race on March 22. Something took over me and I just did it (thanks, Nike, for the idea to "just do it.") without much forethought. I've not run a race since I was on the track team in 9th grade! I figured that if I actually paid REAL money and had to put my REAL name on the paperwork, that I would go through with it. Of course I'm in NO shape to actually win a race like this, having had no official training for it. I've just been running on my own with no real goals, other than to run 3-5 miles at least 5 days per week.
To be honest, I'm scared shitless of running in an actual race. In fact, I'm not telling my family about it. I'll simply leave when I need to and tell them I'm going for a run - which is true - and then I'll return afterward. Of course, I'll probably finish last in my age group, but at least I will have proven to myself that I can run - and finish - a 5k race.
How many people actually place in their very first race? My main problem is that I'm so damned competitive. I expect far too much out of myself, really with everything, and I'm very hard on myself when I fail to live up to my own expectations. I'm scared that I'll go off like a shot, determined to be in the front of the pack, only to wimp out on the last leg. I have bad memories of doing just that in high school.
I just don't want to embarrass myself. That's all. I want to do better than I expect myself to. Is it so ridiculous to want to at least place in the top 10 in my age group? I know that's impossible, really, because I've just checked the 2007 5K rankings of my age group in Georgia. There is no way in hell I can compete with these people! The top ranking female in my age group ran a 17:21. That's so outrageous it makes me giggle! The 10th ranking female ran a 20:01; 20th ranked - 21:58.
Yep. I'm in trouble. It's time to train and train hard. I have 7 weeks.
Does anybody really know what time it is
Does anybody really care (about time)
If so I can't imagine why
We've all got time enough to cry
Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is - Chicago
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
