Day 29--Farewell, for now

So the Tough Mudder was last weekend, and I am so very proud to say that my very dear friend ROCKED IT, Vegas Style.  Nice job, Mi Querido Amigo!!!

I, however, did not, for reasons already explained in the last installment of this blog.

I will be doing the Mudder in October of 2013, and I'll be back to talk about the Adventures in Mudder Training in January.  So stay tuned...

But even though I didn't do my Mudder, the journey worked to almost get there worked the way it was supposed to.  It's been almost 5 months to the day since The One Who Broke My Heart broke my heart.  And while it's not completely healed yet and may never be, I can honestly say that I am good.  I am happy.  I am strong.  And I still think that life is pretty amazing.

I'm in a fabulous new career, something I never really thought was possible.  I absolutely love it--I actually get paid to make new friends, and what in the world could be better for a girl who loves to make new friends??  Seriously, it's hard work, but it's something I think I'm getting good at, and I love going to work every day.  I feel so lucky, and I honestly don't think I'd have taken the steps to get there without having gone through all of this.  It made me look at my life, look at what really makes me happy, and decide to take a leap of faith on something a little uncertain, a little scary, but something that had the potential to make me very happy for a very long time.  The girl I was 6 months ago might not have taken the risk, too scared to fail.  But there's something very powerful about losing someone you love; it forces you not to take anything in your life for granted, not even one minute of one day.  Just go get what you want and be happy.  Because life is too short not to be anything but completely happy.

My babygirl is doing great, in school and in life, and I couldn't be prouder.  She's the one person I truly can't live without.  There were times when I felt like I might die without him, my soulmate, but it didn't happen.  Having her to take care of, my sweet girl who depended on me not to fall apart...she kept me moving forward even when I didn't want to.  She inspired me to try this Mudder thing even though it wasn't anything I ever thought I could do.  I want to finish it for her next year, to show her that her old mom is a fighter.  Not because she's trying to block out a painful break-up.  But just because she's a bad a$$.  Period.
Maybe then when she hits her teen years, she won't give me so much grief.  If she knows I can do one-armed push-ups, hopefully she'll tow the line.  ;)

Dating...let's see...happy to say that I'm actually trying some of that.  It feels a long way from the Sunday afternoon about a month ago when I had a panic attack after filling out the EHarmony questionnaire just to see who they'd match me up with and figuring out that I was actually out there for all of the EHarmony world to see.  I freaked out and shut it down after about 20 minutes.  No need to go into any details here (after all, I'm not Carrie Bradshaw, though I'd love to have all of her shoes.  And Mr. Big!!!), but suffice it to say I'm having fun.

My knee seems to be ready to go again.  I'm going to head back to the gym this weekend and get moving.  I'm planning to start back with P90X on Monday.  I have missed it, I really have.  I actually like being the chick who hates to miss a spin class and can do 15 guy push-ups in a row (so far--shooting for many more this time around!).  But I'm going slow to make sure I don't hurt it again, so my goal to have my spin certification by my birthday in December might have to be adjusted a little.

I'll be back in the New Year to get ready for Tough Mudder 2013.  Maybe before if I find a snake in my closet.  I started all of this thinking I might actually die doing the Mudder, and now I think I'd have done it and survived.  It wouldn't have been pretty, but I would have finished.  And all those times I felt like losing him might just kill me seem pretty far away now.  It wasn't pretty sometimes, but I survived.  I believed I could, so I did.

Next year, I think I'll change the name of the blog from "I think I just might die, but hopefully not," to something more bad a$$ey.  Of course, the old name has a certain charm...we'll have to see how I'm feeling at the beginning of 2013, I guess.

It's been fun to chronicle my training adventures on here, and it's been therapeutic to talk about all the mushy stuff.  So thanks to all who put up with both.

Till 2013, or a snake finds its way into my closet again, this is farewell.  Bye y'all!!

Day 28--I'm calling this thing...Tough Mudder 2013, here I come!

Yes, I know the whole purpose of this thing was not to quit.  Trust me, I do not do this easily.

It's the knee.  I hurt it two Fridays ago doing a cutesy little dance move in Soul Grooves.  Sooooooooo incredibly frustrating because we do all these plyo moves in there, and I've done the P90X craziness, and I'm spinning 3-5 hours a week, plus I've been increasing my run distance (6 miles two weeks ago), but the thing that gets me is a little samba move.  Yeesh!!  I've said from the beginning I have no business in Zumba or Soul Grooves because I can't move like my beautiful instructors can.  I guess I proved it by jacking up my knee doing something so little.  I felt it when it happened, but because I didn't want to quit, I finished class and went to spin after for another hour-long class after that.

I haven't made it back to the gym since.

I've been icing it and resting it, and I thought it might have been feeling better, but after spending the day at the beach yesterday, my stupid knee was throbbing on the drive home.  I wasn't doing anything crazy, but just being up on it took a toll.  Came home last night and iced it again but it still hurts today.  After a consultation with my Tough Mudder Partner and his brilliant doctor girlfriend (who is as much of a Bad A$$ as he is--she's training for her first Iron Man), seems like the smart thing to do is call this thing now and not risk worsening the injury.

I was seriously considering transferring my Mudder registration to the one in Tampa for the first weekend in December, my birthday weekend.  But not really sure how long I'll be off the knee, and then how much time I'll need to get back in the swing of things (can I just say I HATE that I can't go to the gym!?!?), so as much as I'd like to get this thing done before year's end, I've decided to set my sights on the October 2013 Mudder right here in Houston.  

In the meantime, I'm going to focus on getting myself certified to teach spin by the end of 2012 and then start training hard again for the Mudder as soon as 2013 starts.

Hey, not the original plan, but yet another life lesson has presented itself on this crazy journey.  My life has certainly not turned out the way I planned.  I have always been a planner.  An organizer.  Someone who has to know how everything is going to turn out.  Until recently.  If you asked me at 17 or 22 or 27 or 32 if I thought I'd be here at 40, I'd have told you you were CRAZY.  Not me.  I was going to be happily married with 2.5 kids, successful legal career, white picket fence...a perfect little life tied up with a bow.

That is not the life I have.  But I have a great life.  I have the most amazing daughter who makes me proud everyday and makes me work to be the best mom I can possibly be.  I have the most wonderful parents who support me unconditionally who have taught me what it means to be loved.  I have the coolest friends--both old and new-- who make me laugh and love the crazy side of life and who have been through so much with me; they're all priceless.  And even though we're not together anymore, I still consider myself lucky for the time I did have with the man I still consider my soul mate.  The short time we spent together restored my faith in true love and my belief that I can be totally and completely happy with another person.

So, not the original plan, but I wouldn't trade my life for anyone's.  I am a lucky girl, and I'm not going to be down for a second that the stupid knee is keeping me from earning my orange headband in two weeks.  Because I know I'll earn it.  And the original goal has definitely been met:  I am a much stronger person than I was when I started this journey.  And I keep getting stronger every day.

The Mudder in 2013...you know 13 is my lucky number, right?  Maybe I'll change the title of my blog.  I'm not worried about dying anymore.  I kinda think I'd like to rock this thing next year, not just survive it.  But it's kind of a catchy title, so I'll stick with it for now.

Oh, by the way, if anyone's looking for a goal for the new year, join me.  I promise you won't die.

Day 27--The Goddess of Doing Stupid Things that Hurt

Well, maybe not "stupid" things.  Really more like hard or challenging or scary.  But it was a much catchier response to the exbf calling me a goddess than The Goddess of Doing Things That Are Hard and That She Never Thought She Could Do and That Really Hurt.

The Mudder is a month and two days away.  [Pause here for a blood curdling scream].

I celebrated my progress and my last month until The Reckoning by spending the long weekend with my adopted family.  We didn't go out for happy umbrella drinks because one of my adopted sisters is pregnant, but we did do a nice lunch and day at the spa.  Then I went with my other adopted sister to get a tattoo.  I'd seen a quote on Pinterest that really summed up this journey I'm on, and I thought it would make a really pretty tattoo. 

I was not sure where to put it, though, but thanks to Pinterest again, I decided on my left side ribcage.  All of the Pinterest people look really happy with their choice of putting their pretty tattoos there.  When I told folks I was thinking of getting one there, everyone reacted the same way: "ouch."  But really, how painful could seven little words be?

Really painful.  REALLY FRICKIN' PAINFUL. But I had a great tattoo artist and my own cheering section providing fuzzy blankets for me when I got cold and foot massages for me when the pain was tough.  Sounds like I'm telling the story of when my daughter was born.  At least I had Demerol then.  And an epidural.  Either or both would have been nice with the tattoo.  When he got to the last letter of the last word, we all cheered.  And then it was done.  And I love the way it looks, but even more than that, I am proud of myself for getting through it.

It may seem like I'm into pain lately, or maybe having a midlife crisis, but I can attest that I do not at all like things to hurt, and I'm not at all in crisis mode.  I have always avoided anything painful, and certainly never tried to do things that I knew would hurt.  If they hurt, or if I thought they might, forget it.  That's what I'm trying to change...I'm trying to make myself pain-resistant.  A kick-a$$ version of my old self.  An X-man or an Avenger.  An Immortal.  A Goddess...

"She believed she could so she did."  I've looked up the quote, trying to figure out if it comes from a movie or a book.  No luck so far, so I'm claiming it as my own.  You can accomplish anything if you believe in yourself, or put another way, if you don't believe in yourself, you'll never accomplish anything.  I chose the Mudder because it was something hard, something that would certainly be painful, something I'd have to dig deep to get through. Really really hard.  The kind of thing that most people don't do.  Two and a half months ago, I was nowhere near ready to tackle it.  But I believed that I would be by the time I get to the course on October 6th.  Now, here we are, in our last month.  I admit I'm scared.  I can't even imagine how scared I'll be the day of.  But this journey is to force me to deal with painful things and endure hard things so I can come out on the other side this amazing new stronger version of myself.   I know when I get to that finish line, I will be proud of myself for getting through it.

Your resident Goddess of Doing Stupid Things That Hurt did more than just get a tattoo this weekend.  I saw the exbf for the first time since the break up.  And it wasn't hard at all...it was so easy, actually.  Easy just like it always was.  We had a really nice visit.  It was great to know we really can be friends.  People say that all the time, but most can't really do it because it's too hard.  It wasn't hard at all to be his friend.  The painful part was that it was so easy, and that two people who have fun together and care about each other have no future.  But even though that part hurt, that was nothing new, and I was proud of myself for getting through it.

Maybe none of these things will ever truly make me resistant to pain.  I guess that's pretty impossible if you choose to still do the things that can hurt, like loving people, believing in fairy tales and happily ever after, wishing for a happy ending to your own story.  I absolutely choose to do all those things, which I guess earns me the title of Goddess of Doing Stupid Things That Hurt.  But what would life be life if I didn't?  Not the kind I will be proud of myself for getting through.

You can't avoid pain.  But if you are strong, and you have cheerleaders to help you through it, it definitely won't kill you.

Day 26--"The trouble is, you think you have time."--Buddha

We all talk about time a lot.  There never seems to be enough time to get it all done.  Time moves too slowly when you're stuck at work and moves too quickly every weekend.  We're all really good at wasting time (can we say Facebook, Pinterest, watching multiple reruns of The Big Bang Theory all in a row...).  You wonder where the time went when you realize your baby starts fifth grade in the morning.  Time...

I like inspirational sayings.  I swear sometimes those folks are talking just to me.  Like today, while I was busy wasting time on Pinterest, I stumbled upon a quote from Buddha:  "The trouble is, you think you have time."  And we do, don't we?  We put off so many things because we believe we've got tomorrow, or next weekend or next month.  Maybe we don't call our parents enough, maybe we don't play enough with our kids, maybe we don't exercise because we think we have tomorrow.

What if we don't?

I know there's a local preacher dude and his wife who wrote a book about living each day of your life as if it was the last one.  I'm not big into organized religion, but I totally dig the premise of the book.  Yes, there are things we just can't avoid doing every day because we have bills to pay--working--but there are still plenty of hours in the day and in the week that we could really do better with.  I know I could.  And I can promise you that if today was my last day, if I was about to be out of time, I would have spent the whole day just talking to my daughter.  I would make sure she knew how much I love her, am proud of her, and that I know she's going to have a wonderful life.  I would be more patient, and I would laugh as much as I could.  I would hug her a lot. 

So what if today wasn't my last, but what if I only had a few months?  How would I live my life differently?  How many more chances would I take?  How much time would I waste?

I bought a print from Brian Andreas several years ago, and I credit it with forcing me to make a change in my life, to leave a job that kept me from my daughter. 

There is exactly enough time for the important things in your life.  You just have to decide what they are.

We took a spontaneous trip up Dallas to see the Cowboys play last night.  It was just a preseason game, but the tickets were so cheap, and I knew we wouldn't be able to afford to go again this season, so we decided to go and we went.  And we had a great time, and made some great memories.  Yeah, it was the weekend before school started.  Sure, we still had stuff to do to get ready.  But this was an important thing...making memories with my daughter was an important thing, and there was exactly enough time to take a roadtrip with her.

I'm about 6 weeks away from the Mudder.  I've been sleeping through P90x lately, but I've been hitting the gym faithfully.  I did get my 5 mile run in last week.  6 is on tap this week.  I had a little panic attack today thinking I was running out of time.  That I might not be ready.  That I might not finish the race.  I confess I started coming up with excuses to get out of it.  I do have that trick knee that gave me trouble in the Half, and I have had two bouts of plantar faciaitis over the last several years...I could blame one of those two things.

But then I stopped myself.  I can't give up.  I can't quit.  Not this.  Not anymore.

I have exactly enough time to get ready.  To get ready enough. No one says I have to rock the Mudder.  I just have to survive.  That has always been the goal.

Buddha is still right...I shouldn't walk around everyday thinking I have time. And Brian Andreas is still right...I have enough time for the important things in my life.  The two aren't in conflict because if you live every day like it's your last day, you will make sure you spend it doing what you love with the people you love.

Everyone says "life's too short" or I guess the hipster updated version of that is "YOLO."  Either way, you never know how many tomorrows you have, so if you want something, if you want to change something, if you want to be better, or different, if you want to mend fences or find a lost love, if you want to get closer to your children, or to your parents, if you want to move to Central Park and paint pictures or move to Mexico and braid tourists' hair...just do it.  Because you don't know how many tomorrows you have.

It's time.

Day 25--12 miles in two months

No, I don't mean I have two months to run 12 miles.  Although as slow as I run and as hot as it is, it might just take me that long.  What I mean is in less than two months, I have to be able to run 12 miles.  In the same day.  In addition to making it through 25 obstacles.  The course is terrifying.  Is anyone else laughing out loud as they're reading this, because I'm laughing out loud as I write it.

I did two hours of spin on Saturday.  Got to my class early and rode until class started and then John.The.Spin.God extended class to 75 minutes, so it was a good workout.   Stayed in my grubby, smelly clothes because we were just running errands and sticking around home, and sometime after supper I decided I would take advantage of the folks visiting and head out for a run, something I usually can't do when my kiddo is home with me. 

Told myself I would knock out 5 miles because, as I tell all my reluctant runner friends, running is a mental exercise more than a physical.  Your body can do much more than you give it credit for and, I reasoned, I can do over 2 hours of leg-shredding spin without dying, so heading out for a 5 mile jog should be easy breezy.

And it was, for the first mile, it was.  I was trucking along, listening to my new tunes, feeling very much like a runner.  And then it started to get dark.  The streetlights came on.  The mosquitos started biting.  And my stupid brain filled with about 8 million reasons to quit, to turn around and go home.  I decided louder music would drown out the voices in my head, so I cranked up my iPod even louder, but that just made the voices start screaming, "YOUR LEGS ARE SORE...YOU ALREADY DID 2 HOURS OF SPIN!!"  "IT'S GETTING SCARY DARK OUT HERE...YOU ARE RISKING YOUR LIFE JUST TO RUN??"  "THESE BUGS ARE MAKING IT IMPOSSIBLE TO RUN.  DO YOU WANT TO GET WEST NILE??"  Ignore the voices, ignore the voices, sing louder, sing LOUDER. 

But the voices in my head were relentless, as the voices in your head sometimes are.  And I stopped.  As if I ran into a brick wall.  I turned around, and I jogged back home. 

It wasn't as if I didn't get a good extra workout in...I did.  So I'm not mad at myself and the crazy voices in my head for that.  I just can't believe I listened.  I thought I was tougher than that.  All objective evidence indicated I should have been able to do 5 miles that night.  I know based on personal experience that once you hit your stride and settle into a good pace, you can run and run and run and run Forrest Gump style.  (Not sure where that guy slept when he was running because he missed his Jenny...were we meant to believe he ran 24-7?) 

I learned a lot when I trained for the half marathon back in '09 that I didn't finish because I fell down and busted up my knee, and the most important one was that I could run as far as I believed I could run.  I figured out how to quiet the doubting, negative voices in my head, no matter how loud they screamed at me.  I found my zone, and I stayed in it until my run was done for the day. 

I'm not sure why I couldn't find it on Saturday. 

But I better find it soon.  October 6th is looming on the horizon.  And it won't matter how many one-armed push-ups I can do if I can't run 12 miles.

My next chance to go out and do 5 miles is this weekend.  If you see me running through the neighborhood, and I appear to be talking to myself, I'm not schizophrenic, at least not according to the clinical definition.  I will be telling the voices in my head that want me to wimp out and go home to shut up.  I might have to get downright nasty and pull out some cuss words to get them to really listen, so plug your children's ears if you're out on a family bike ride or after-dinner stroll.  But I'm not going to listen to them this weekend.

Because in less than two months, they're gonna have a whole lot more to yell about.  Fire.  Ice.  Electric Shock.  And if I don't learn to drown them out now, I'll never get my orange headband.  So here's to quieting the voices and just getting it done.

 

Day 24--Karma: even if it takes 24 years, it'll get you.

I don't remember his name, only that he was kind of a quiet kid.  Nice enough, from what I remember, but because I truly believe I've had some sort of memory loss "event" causing me to lose a big chunk of my high school experiences, I don't remember much about the kid.  I just remember that he asked me for a hug one day, and I guess because I was a brat or whatever, I answered, "sorry, fresh out."

Yes, please judge 15 year-old me for that.  She definitely deserves it.  I mean, I can certainly see lots of times where denying a hug request would not only be acceptable, it would be the only option.  Someone covered in bees.  Someone carrying a boa constrictor around his neck.  Someone with a bomb strapped to his chest.  Someone [insert scary or dangerous or even just sticky thing covering or attached to a person].  But, a relatively harmless chap who just needed a hug that day should really have gotten one. 

Don't worry; Karma got me back. 

Friday was a tough day for a few reasons, and I was at Stress Level Midnight.  (Any Michael Scott fans out there--Threat Level Midnight?)  And it wasn't anything I couldn't handle, but it was one of those times when I really missed knowing that someone would be waiting for me at home.  I wasn't missing my ExBf in particular; I was just missing having that other person who would be there to give you a great big hug and tell you everything is going to be alright.

On a really tough day when all I really wanted was a hug, and I didn't have anyone to give me one. 

Karma said, "Sorry, fresh out."  And laughed at how long it took for that one to come back around but very happy the card finally got played.

But the cool thing about Karma is that it apparently holds no long-term grudges.  Meaning that it got me back for the "fresh-out of hugs" mistake of my youth, and then moved on and let me have an amazing happy hour (that last for 6 hours) with great friends.  I had to spin for 2 hours to try and burn off the 6-hour happy hour but it was worth it. 

Now what I'm worried about in the Karma department is the Mudder:  I can't help but laugh when people fall down, slip, trip, stumble, faceplant.  I'm naturally clumsy (or maybe that's Karma's constant influence, getting me back for laughing at others shamelessly), so it doesn't take much for me to trip and fall.  In fact (very embarrassing story alert), I fell down in the shower just Friday.

That was actually the start of the "no hug--Stress Level Midnight" day.  Karma?  Hmmmm...

Yes, my very thorough housekeeper had left my shower very clean, and very, very slippery, and because I started running the water to get it nice and warm, the water and the cleaning stuff mixed to create a surface about as slick as the substance Clark Griswold used on the bottom of his sled in A Christmas Vacation, and I stepped in, and my foot went vertical as I went horizontal, trying to brace myself on the way down but only managing to scratch my arms all to heck.  No permanent damage, and I actually laughed at myself.

Anyway, here comes the Mudder with 25 obstacles, including fire and shocky-thingies and tunnels and mud and ice and on and on...I will wager that I fall down at least 25 times.  And Karma will be laughing each time.

Speaking of showers, I need one because I did another 2 hours of spin today, so I'm off to take one.  It's safe in there now...all the slip-inducing slickness is gone.  So no need to worry.

P90x in the a.m., followed by another shower.  Increasing my chances that Karma might be in a funny mood and take it out on me again.  Maybe I'll invest in some of those grippy little goldfish that kids and old people use in their showers just in case.

Day 23--My ex, my exbf, and I all walk into a bar...

...or a high school chemistry class.

It was 1989, and instead of our normal chem teacher, our beloved Doc, in walks my ExBf to teach us about elements and stuff.  Modern day though, not the high school version of him.  He was subbing for Doc because Doc was at the Olympics.  And I wasn't sitting down yet...I'd been up chatting with someone about something, and when he walked in, I froze where I was, not really processing what was happening.  I was also modern-day me but for some reason stuck in high school chemistry. Probably because I never really understood it the first go-round. 

The ExBf/chem teacher gave me a look.  Not the sweet kind I was used to getting, but a "get your butt in your seat before I act all teachery on you" kind.  So I sat down.  And leaned over to ask the guy sitting next to me why my ExBf was our sub.

But the guy sitting next to me was my Ex.  And he was making notes on a menu from Maggiano's and told me it was time to go to the football team's fundraiser dinner.  (????)  So we left class before it even started, and hopped on Vespas (????) to drive to the fieldhouse for the fundraiser.

The ExBf was also there...I guess the football team fundraiser ranked higher than teaching HS chemistry that day...and they got in line with the other football guys dressed in red and white uniforms to serve pasta.  I wandered around the lines, looking for a plate, and then I decided I couldn't eat the pasta anyway because I'm training and eating low carb.  (Go me!!  Sticking to my low carb eating plan even in my dream life!).  I found some lemons that I suppose were for the iced tea and started eating them, but then I remembered the story my 7th grade biology teacher told us about how she and her sisters always sucked on lemons to whiten their teeth...and ended up losing all their enamel.  So I spit out the lemons and went back to class. 

When I got there, I ran into my ExBf again.  I can tell you exactly what shirt he was wearing and the cologne he had on. And I told him about my dream that he was our chem teacher.  And we laughed, and then the bell rang.  And it rang again.  And again.  And again.  And again. 

And I woke up.  To my annoying alarm clock. 

Which, is why I didn't make it up for P90x this morning.  I was hanging out in a weird parallell dream world universe.  I've been a crazy, vivid dreamer all my life.  I swear sometimes I wake up so tired because I've lived a whole other life while I've been sleeping.

Speaking of weird parellell dream universes, today is 2 months and 1 week until Tough Mudder time.  I'm happy with where I am, all but running.  But I upped my cardio last week to 2 hours a day, and this past Saturday I did a 2.5 hour spin class.  I thought the instructors would go easy on us, a little bit at least, because they had us for 2.5 hours.  But nope, not at all.  They killed us.  But the cool thing was that I finished and even though my legs were a little tight, they weren't really sore.  I did come home and sleep for 2 hours after the ride, but I am encouraged that I made it through 2.5 hours of lower body torture this weekend with no real side effects. 

So because we're essentially two months out (don't want to train hard the week before the race), I'm going to up my training a little bit more.  P90x in the a.m., a spin class in the evening, and then after I get my kiddo to bed, an hour on the elliptical or treadmill (elliptical will probably always win my vote: I hate the treadmille).  So that's 3 hours of training just about every day.  I signed up for bootcamp at the gym, and I'll incorporate that in the last month before the race, and then, hopefully I won't die!!

Now, I'm off to find some theories about what my crazy dream means.  Other than the most obvious one: I'm crazy.  Show me a Tough Mudder who isn't though.  Signing up to voluntarily run through fire is probably the textbook definition of crazy.  And it's all relative.  I have nutty dreams and am excited about running through fire, and other people have to open and close the door 15 times to make sure it shuts.  It takes all kinds of crazy to make this world, or the parellell dream version of this world, go round.

Day 22--I'm changing my name to Janet. Or Jess. Or Joan.

I remember it like it was yesterday.  My regular 5:15 a.m. spin instructor was off, and she warned us we'd have a sub.  A boy.  I'd never taken a spin class taught like a boy.  I wasn't happy.  And then I saw him.  A happy bald guy who was playing pretty good warm up tunes.  Okay, maybe it would be okay.  Then class started.  And I almost didn't survive. 

If you haven't taken a spin class before, the bike has a little red knob that you turn to add tension.  The more tension, obviously, the harder it is to pedal.  In spin, though, you also have to stand up on the bike and pedal.  With a lot of tension, it feels like you're running through 8 feet of sand.

The instructor, who would forever after be called Jason.The.Spin.God, made us "bury" the tension (that means, add, and add, and add, and add....I think we turned the red knob 23 or 57 times) and stand up while he played that Kid Rock song, the one I can't pronounce, Bada-bing-bada-boom or something, and he turned it up LOUD.  So we were all up on our bikes, pushing through 8 feet of sand, with this crazy song on full blast.  The room was literally thumping with each beat. 

And then...

...the clock above our heads on the back row gave up and committed suicide.  It jumped right off the wall and smashed right in front of me. 

And Jason.The.Spin.God says, "It's not a party until we break something.  KEEP RIDING!!!!"

That's it, I was sold on this guy and on spin in general.  I figured out when he was teaching and came to every class I could, sometimes twice a day.  Until he left the gym.  :(

Never fear though, in comes Jeralan, a very happy, funny, silly, goofy, MMA-fighting, arms-as-big-as-trees spin.god.  I love his class.  It's always a blast, and being kind of a goofball myself, I have a great time spinning with him.

And then there's James.  James' spin class is like a dance party, and he's DJ Jazzy James.  His songs are these awesome mash-ups of a bunch of songs you already love to dance to, so the hour just flies by!

Finally, John, whose class I rode through twice in a row tonight.  He loves 80s rock like I do, and tonight he even played my favorite Glam rocker, Adam Lambert.  He also talks to us a lot, tells funny little ditties, and it's entertaining. 

All three of these guys' classes are hard; you definitely earn your keep in each one.  I love going to them all.  SpinGods, they all are.

So here you go...we had Jason, the original Spin God, and now Jeralan, James, and John. 

Hmmmm....it would appear that to become a SpinGoddess, like I hope to, I will need to first change my name to something that begins with the letter "J."

I like that show New Girl--Jess is kinda dorky like me.  That might work.  "Jess.The.Spin.Goddess."  Too Rhymey. 

Janet reminds me too much of Janet "Wardrobe Malfunction" Jackson or the dumpy roommate Janet from "Three's Company," so I think that one's out.

Jessica=Simpson.  No thanks.  Except she did date Tony Romo, and he was living with Jason Witten at the time, and I love Jason Witten, so maybe...but Jessica is the same as Jess, really, so no again.

Jenni is one of my BFF's names, so I can't be all SingleWhiteFemale Name-Stealer.

Well, I'll keep thinking of cool "J" names for my Spin.Goddess alter ego.  I have time. 

Now, I think I'll go sit in a tub of ice to recover from two hours on the bike seat in spin.  Ouch.  Plus, my legs currently don't work.  I might fall off this barstool I'm sitting on when I try to get down.

Wish me luck!!

Day 21--You spin me right round, baby, right round...

Wrapping up another weekend that was kind of a mixed bag.  I had a great Saturday hanging out with superfun friends at a beautiful wedding, reception, and afterparty that lasted a full 12 hours.  I volunteered to be the designated driver because I am on a low/healthy carb thing this week (and it's working--5 lbs gone since Tuesday) and because I knew I had a long run to do today.  I did bring some Crystal Light Appletini mix and made my own low-cal, low-carb appletinis at the after-party.  The bartenders thought I was odd when I placed this order:  Two shots of vodka, a glass of ice, and a bottle of water.  I got my mixology on and created my John Deere Tractor Green-colored concoction.  Quite sure the color of my faux-appletini is not the color of any apple I've ever seen.  They were tasty, but the wait staff did their job too well, because anytime I even shifted in my chair, they appeared and disappeared in the same millisecond, taking with them my self-made mixed drink.  I finally gave up.  But the night was awesome, and a lot of fun was had. 

Today, however, has been kinda tough.  Slept in.  Missed my sweet babygirl a lot.  Watched chick flicks.  Ignored my dirty kitchen and my unfolded laundry.  Didn't grocery shop.  Never left the house once.  Took a nap.  Total and complete bum stuck in a funk.

And what do I get for taking a nap, which I never do???  I slept through the only spin class at the gym today.  I was not happy.  And after battling with my stupid iTunes trying to recover my playlists and add new music so I can go running, it started thundering, so I decided to go to the gym, grab a spin bike, and go. 

With my new tunes, I hopped on the bike and worked my butt off.  I was out of water after 30 minutes and finished the refill at the hour mark.  I would have stayed longer but I saw Emily Maynard and Chris Harrison on the gym TVs....crap!  Forgot all about The Bachelorette Season Finale tonight!!  So I cooled off, stretched, cleaned off my sweaty bike, and ran home to make sure I'd get to watch the trainwreck as it unfolded.  And it turned out not to be a trainwreck at all.  Everyone seems happy. 

But I had such a great time, and it completely pulled me out of the funk I'd been in all day, that I decided I have to do something more with this spin business. 

So I started digging around on the internet.  I even found a yellow spin bike.  A happy, sunshiney spin bike. 

And I've decided I will get my spin instructor certification by my birthday on December 2nd.  I don't care if I'm old.  I don't care if I've never taught a single class.  I love spin.  I've always loved spin.  It doesn't require much coordination.  It's not like I'm delusional enough to think I could go teach just any class at the gym.  Like Zumba or Soul Grooves.  Ha, ha, no frickin way.  But spin, I can do.  It's hard, and it works, and I can do it.  So in this quest to reinvent myself, let's add Bad A$$ Spin Instructor to my resume, please.

Day 20--Tony is PSYCHO!! And we can be, too!

Today was a big day for me in the world of pushupability.  I did 5 one-armed push-ups, on my knees of course, but come on--those are HARD!!  And I even managed to do 3 of the clap-in-the-middle kind without face-planting into my yoga mat.  (PS, it's called a yoga mat, but it doesn't ever get used for yoga because, as you know, I hate yoga.)  Anyone who knows me knows that I can manage to faceplant without trying a complicated and challenging push-up move, so the fact that I managed to save face (ha!) while doing it is HUGE for me!! 

It was comical, for sure.  It did not look pretty, no doubt.  But the girl on P90X looked to be doing about what I was doing, just more of it.  Not much range-of-motion on the one-armed push-ups for us ladies.  But the dudes, holy crap!!  That was beautiful to watch, which I did once I did all I thought I could do for today.  Very nice, P90X Helper Dudes. 

Tony, though, is a total and complete maniac.  I actually paused the video and took a picture of him to show y'all how insanely strong this guy is.  On the clappy-in-the-middle pushups, he actually gets airborne.  And I'm not talking a few inches off the ground.  The guy is Super-pushup-man.  Wow, is all I can say.  As you can see, he has cleared the two P90X Helper Dudes behind him.  That grey thing 3 feet down is the floor mat.  Holy crap!!  Check him out!!

Shout-out to one of my very favorite people in the whole wide world who is taking on the Mudder the same day I am, but several states away.  He's lucky enough to live in the luckiest city in the world--Las Vegas--and I think a Post-Mudder Vegas Celebration will be in order when we both recover from the Mudder.  And my challenge to my querido amigo is that we both do flying Psycho Tony push-ups at the party and impress all the party-goers, especially the hot pilot that he and his lovely bride will ensure is at the party to be specifically impressed with my Bad A$$ness. ;)  You up for the challenge, Querido Amigo (hereinafter "QA" in all future shout-outs)?? 

I probably won't be able to lift my arms up to brush my teeth tomorrow, so don't get too close if you see me coming. 

So my new goal:  PSYCHO!!  And not in a bunny-boiling kinda way!!  I am gonna post of pic of me doing what Crazy Tony is doing at the end of this Mudder training.  Mark my words!!

Excuse the over-the-top optimism today.  I'm just proud.  And a little bit crazy.

Day 19--It's not a toomah.

My brain tumor is back.  Okay, it's not really a brain tumor.  Not that I know of anyway.  It's what I call the searing pain I get above my left eye when I'm stressed.  I have two very close friends who have had brain tumors, so I'm certainly not making light of those with actual, not imagined, brain tumors.  But mine is so bad it's making it hard to keep my left eye open.  After my surgery, I couldn't open my right eye, so maybe my left eye is protesting at having to do more than its fair share of the vision duty. 

It started out this morning when I had to try and do math.  Thankfully, my TMP is a math geek and was able to help me calculate the answers, but by then, the damage was done.  Brain tumor in full effect.  Four advil haven't made a dent.  Sticking my head in a bucket of ice sounds good, but not sure sporting the "wet hair" look is appropriate.  It's not Casual Friday, after all.  So suffer I must.

Maybe my tumor is caused by thinking too hard.  Not in an Albert Einstein kinda way.  Not in a finding-a-cure-for-cancer kinda way.  The things I'm thinking about aren't helpful to anyone but myself.  Maybe tumor headaches are caused by thinking too hard about things that don't help anyone.  Maybe they're designed to discourage such thoughts.

I was in spin class on Saturday.  There are usually cute boys in spin class, and Saturday was no exception.  But I didn't notice anyone except one riding on the front row, right in front of the instructor.  And it wasn't until the class ended that I realized why I couldn't keep my eyes off of his reflection in the big huge mirror for the whole hour.  I was looking at him, but the similarities were so striking that I was seeing someone else.  I walked by his bike on the way to get a towel and I couldn't help but smile.  He smiled back, and he had the same kind eyes I thought I'd be staring at forever.  I found myself hoping he'd be at my next spin class.  Not so I could talk to him, though.  As sure as he opened his mouth and his voice was his own, I wouldn't be able to imagine the one I'm missing is sitting just a few rows away from me in my spin class.  No, I'd like to continue fixating on the doppelganger during spin without any complications like knowing his name or anything about him, actually.  Wow, I think I might actually be nuts. 

Speaking of nuts, Mudder training is going pretty well.  I am loving that I'm back in spin class, and not just because of The Clone riding the bike in the front row.  It's such a great workout...awesome cardio for sure, but you can't beat it for building lower body strength.  I should be able to squat an adult human after a couple of months of this.  Not an actual human.  I think they'd be too wiggly to hold on to and I'd hate to drop one.  But weight equivalent to an adult human.  And I'm obsessed with my biceps and triceps lately.  It's actually fun to flex now because there's real live muscle there, and it makes me feel all strong and stuff.  Not quite Army Strong, but better than I was 6 weeks ago.

There were (hot) Army recruiters at the gym on Saturday, and they were giving tshirts away to guys who were dropping down and giving them 20.  My daughter told me to go get one.  "You can do push-ups now, Mom."  I was actually content to sit in the cafe and watch everyone else do the push-ups, but it was cool to know I could've done it if I'd wanted to.  Those pull-ups are still eluding me, but I'm still working out with the bands and strengthening the muscles that will eventually help me do the six I need to do to finish my Mudder.  And I was reminded recently the number of pull-ups an Army recruit has to do to get in:  1.  Maybe the next time the (hot) Army recruiters come back to the gym, I'll be able to knock out 6 pull-ups for them.  Wonder how many shirts I'd get for that. 

Spin tonight.  Hoping my headache has backed off by then.  If not, I at least hope the doppelganger is there to distract me.  Yes, I think I am nuts.  But maybe I can blame the tumor.

Day 18 - Sunny stole my American Gladiator name.

I realized that today is July 6th.  Friday.  One of my very favorite friend's birthdays.  The night of our Magic Mike and Dancing Girls Night Out.  And exactly 3 months until the Tough Mudder.
Please excuse me while I step outside and SCREAM.  [Screaming begins in 3, 2, 1...]

I don't know where the last month went.  True, I can now do 15 boy push-ups in a row, but I have not mastered a pull-up on the bar yet.  I'm supposed to be able to do 6 by October 6th. 

Deep breath.


And this last week has been a total wash.  I had some stress early in the week that completely distracted me, and then we had the holiday break, and there was definitely some unhealthy eating on the 4th (oreo balls, guacamole, cheeseburgers in paradise) and drinking (the name of what we were drinking is not appropriate for all audiences), which wouldn't have been so bad if I'd been P90Xing, which I wasn't.  I did one day.  And it intimidated the heck out of me.  I mostly sat there and watched as The Guy Who Can't Seem to Stop Talking do all these crazy types of push-ups, including the kind where you clap in the middle and jump off the ground, somehow, in the horizontal position.  I guess you push yourself up so high you leave the ground.  Not sure about the physics involved (TMP, some help here?)  Either way, I couldn't do it.  So I sat there, feeling more lost than I did on Day 1, during a lot of the crazy new brand of push-ups he expected me to do.  And then we've been out later than normal almost every day this week, so getting up in the morning has been a challenge.  I.E., I didn't get up early this week.


So it looks like I need to get some discipline back up in here.  I found all sorts of great quotes on Pinterest about discipline.  Too bad I wasn't persuaded by them to actually be motivated.  Knowing I've got only 3 months left to get my running where it needs to be (it's currently at 0 m.p.h. because I'm not doing it) and turn into one of the chicks from American Gladiator should be motivation enough.  I wonder if I need a special Tough Mudder name like the AG girls had.  The girl gladiators were named Diamond, Blaze, Ice, Sky, Lace, Siren, Jazz, Storm, Elecktra, Sunny, Flame, Sahara, Astra, Lightning, Jet, Vogue, Zodiac, Lynx, and Dallas.  They actually sound a whole lot more like strippers than gladiators.  The dudes have super tough names like Turbo, Nitro, and Diesel.  I think I earned the title of Serpent Slayer last month when I decapitated the scary brown (could have been a copperhead) snake in my closet, but it sounds like a name I'd have if I played Dungeons and Dragons.  I've never played, but the guys on Big Bang Theory were playing it the other day, and they all seemed to have funny names.  So Serpent Slayer won't really work.  Besides, I can't really accessorize that in any meaningful way on Tough Mudder day.  I actually like Sunny.  Because the sun's yellow, and yellow's my favorite color, and sunflowers are my favorite flowers, and Sunny sounds like a nice person.  But not real tough, I'll admit.  I'll keep thinking, and suggestions are surely welcome.

Okay, so 4 hours at the gym planned for tomorrow, a run on Sunday morning, and take 2 of week 6 of P90x starting Monday.  I'm saying it aloud so it will happen.  I'm writing it down so I can't not do it.  I'm putting it in cyberspace so I've essentially made a promise to all the folks who read my blog.  I don't know who you are, but it means a lot to me to not break my word to you.  Or whatever.  I'm just trying to make myself wake up and quit acting like I have all year to get ready for this crazy race from hell.  Three months.  90 days.  Lord help me.  I think I might die.

My tombstone would say, "Here lies Angie, a.k.a., the Serpent Slayer, a.k.a., Sunny the Gladiator.  She's here because she didn't get her butt outta bed in the morning to do P90x and out the door to run and to the gym to work out, so she died trying to do the Tough Mudder, just like she thought she might.  Dummy."

Maybe my gladiator name should be Dummy.

Day 17--The time isn't right. Does anyone have any AA batteries?

Literally.  I'm sitting in my living room, looking up at the mantle clock on the cabinet that houses my ancient TV, and it says it's 12:06.  The clocks on the microwave and the stove both say it's 2:15, and my alarm clock reads 2:44. 

The actual time is 2:01.

Explanation:  I haven't changed the battery in my mantle clock.  The kitchen clocks were set based on a guess at the real time, and the alarm clock in my bedroom is set 45 minutes fast so that when it starts going off at 4:45 a.m., I actually think it's 5:30, and I snooze for 45 minutes, and I still get up in time for a morning workout.  Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't. 

But why can't I set my clocks to the actual time?  Is it smart to think it's earlier or later than it actually is? 

Well, changing the batteries involves getting the stepladder out, and taking the clock down, and taking the back off, and actually having new batteries to replace the old ones.  The others are much less trouble.  But still, they stay, too fast or too slow.

Time is something we all have trouble with.  Maybe not as literally as not taking the time to change the time on the clocks.  We all tend to look back and miss things that happened in an earlier time.  We tend to worry and fear things that may or may not happen at a later time.  But do we actually sit here, in the moment we're in, and make the most of the time that's happening right now?  I know I don't.

I wish it was as easy as just deciding to quit missing the wonderful things you had in the past and quit worrying about the unknown that lies ahead in the future.  I would decide to do that if I could. 

Today a rainy day.  A quiet day.  My kid isn't here, but even though I'm alone, I'm not lonely. Maybe I'm still riding the wave of all the extra endorphins I got from the three classes I did yesterday at the gym.  Maybe I've realized that even though I don't have that one special relationship anymore, I have dozens of other special relationships, people that make my life a happy, fun place to be.  Maybe I'm finally figuring out that time is marching on and I'm losing it by not living in the day that I woke up to.   

As I told my good friend this past week, you never know what's waiting around the corner for you.  I wasn't looking for anyone when he found me.  It just happened on this marvelous day that I will never forget.  I had been at the gym that morning, in spin class, just like a regular day, and after a conversation that lasted for hours, I knew.  I didn't get up that morning and have any idea how vastly different my life would be that night when I fell asleep.  That was just one day.  A great day.

Had I been able to see into the future, to see the day when we'd say goodbye, I would've run, and I'd have missed out on an amazing love. 

So it doesn't make sense to lose today because you're worried about tomorrow or longing for yesterday.  You never know what kind of great day is on the horizon. 

I think I'll go set my clocks.  Hopefully, I can find some batteries.

Day 16--We all die alone? I'm not buying it.

I don't know if I really agree with the often quoted saying, "We all die alone."  I guess I concede that the moment when your heart stops beating, no one else joins you in that activity, unless you're in some sychronized suicide pact with a group of apocalyptic lunatics who believe the end of the world is coming at 12 a.m., EST, on December 22, 2012.  From a religious or spiritual perspective, if you're a believer, there is a point when that essence that makes me Me and you You leaves our body and floats off into the afterlife or into a holding tank awaiting the next step, be it reincarnation or ascension into heaven--or descension into hell.  But if you listen to the stories, even at that point, you're not alone.  There's a light or some angel types or your Grandpa Frank to guide you to the next step.

I can't comment one way or the other.  I've never died before, that I know of anyway, but I think the originator and the countless repeaters of"we all die alone" are a sad group of folks.  Sure, I get that lots of hearts stop beating with no one around to notice.  And that is sad.  But hopefully, the majority of us will take our last breath surrounded by people who love us.  And though their hearts will continue to beat after ours stop, that doesn't mean we died alone. 

Why all the death talk?  I have to take my sweet old dog, Sally, to be put to sleep soon.  I thought I was going to have to do it Monday when I came home from work and she couldn't move her back legs anymore.  I carried her into the backyard and let her lay in the grass and I talked to her and petted her and cried my friggin' eyes out.  I had no idea how I was going to do what needed to be done.  I couldn't imagine sitting with her at the vet's office, watching her die.  This sweet dog who I saved from death almost 14 years earlier when I adopted her the very day she was scheduled to be put down, as the big red "X" on the index card hanging from her cage indicated.  I just didn't have it in me, and I frantically scanned my mental rolodex for anyone I could ask to handle it for me.  I wanted to hand her off and pretend that she was going to doggy day care, and then she just wouldn't come home. My ex was not able to help, except that he did in a way by telling me I needed to stay with her when it happens.  I think he said " It's about time you grew up."

And he was right.  How could I send my sweet Sallybear off with someone else, or worse, drop her at the vet's office alone?  I couldn't.  As hard as I know it will be to stand there and pet her while she drifts off to sleep, I will be there when she takes her last breath and her heart stops beating.  She will not die alone.

I'm not sure why my first instinct was to reach out to someone else to do that for me, or with me.  I guess more than anything, I didn't want to go through it alone.  For some reason, I don't have enough faith in myself and in what I'm capable of that doing things alone is terrifying.  I think it's human nature to want to share your life and your love, and your pain, too, with someone else, and at times like these, a blinding spotlight shines on the fact that I've lost that person who I shared everything with.  He's still in my life, and I know he would have gone with me if he didn't live in a completely different city and all.  But he does, so I have to be strong, all by myself. 

Much like the morning that I got up and found that snake lurking in my bedroom closet, I'm faced with a choice:  go run for help, or find what I need inside myself.  Well, the only running I'm going to be doing from now on is what I need to get ready for my Mudder.  I killed a snake in my closet, and I can sit with my sweet puppy and be the last face she sees in this world so she knows she is not alone.

Monday night, she seemed to be resting comfortably, so I decided to wait until the morning to take her, but then the morning came, and she was walking again.  Not steadily, and not easily, but she was doing it.  It was almost as if she knew what was going to happen, and she wasn't ready.  So I've decided to keep a close eye on her and take her when I feel it's time.  I don't want her to suffer, but I don't want to be hasty, either.  When she's ready to go, I'll be ready to take her.

I'm not sure if this was the kind of the thing the Mudder people thought training for their race would prepare me for.  But it's just one more step in the journey to becoming a strong person.  I don't want to be the girl that runs to others when she's scared of something; I want to be the girl other people run to. 

Speaking of Muddering, it's rest and stretch week on P90x.  Yawn.  I hate yoga, have I mentioned that?  I'm not feeling it.  I don't like it.  I am ready to be working on my pushups again.  But follow the plan, I must.  I was going to hit the streets and get some good runs in this week, but we're in hell down here in Houston--it's in the 100s this week.  Brutally hot.  I think at those temperatures, the pavement actually burns the tread right off your shoes.  And I just got really cute new shoes.  The ones I buy from New Balance (I have to get this one kind bc I have feet that are as wide as they are long and I overpronate) are in orange this year.  And the Mudder colors are orange and black.  A good sign, I must say.  So I'm not risking melting my new shoes or suffering a heat stroke.  Guess I'm stuck with yoga.  Did I mention I hate yoga?

Day 15--I have a girl crush on JLo, and I'm really bad at Zumba.

She's just beautiful, the most beautiful woman in the world, according to People magazine anyway.  I know some people don't like her, but I think she's lovely.  I have been growing my hair out for several years, and the longest layers have almost made it to my waist.  For awhile, Miley Cyrus was my hair idol, but now that's she's crazy and sleazy, I've switched to JLo.  Her hair is amazing.  Plus, she can dance and sing, and she seems really nice to all those losers on American Idol.  Her "Dance Again" song is both my ringtone and my text notification.  The really cute part when Pitbull says "Uh...Yes" when he's doing his little rap thing.  Anyway, she's my girl crush.

So imagine my surprise when the girl teaching Zumba at the gym on Saturday looked like her younger sister.  And man, could she dance!  I love, love, love to dance, but I'm by no means good at it.  I can't drop anything or pop anything or lock anything.  I watch a lot of So You Think You Can Dance but I can tell you it doesn't come to you by osmosis. No matter how close you sit to the T.V.

I was trying really hard to move like JLo's Lil Sis, but my goodness, it was not happening.  I have to get through group fitness classes like Zumba and my other favorite, Soul Grooves, by not acknowledging my own presence in the class.  I do this by not making eye contact with myself in the mirror. I have to pretend I'm moving just like those gifted instructors on stage or I I'd die of embarrassment and skulk out of the gym.  I know, I know...no one in there is judging;  everyone's there to get a good workout, yada yada, blah, blah, blah.  Still, I judge.  I judge the ridiculously uncoordinated idiot in the mirror wearing exactly what I wore to the gym that day.  She even looks like me, but Lord, that can't be how I dance, is it?  No eye contact!!!  Keep focused on J.Lo's Lil Sis...you move just like her.  You could be her!  Well, if your hips could do that and if you were 15 years younger and gorgeous.

Still, I love the class, and I'm planning to keep doing my P90X in the mornings and hitting the gym for some extra cardio at night, including Zumba.  Maybe I'll actually get better.  I have about four months.  They work much faster dancing magic on Dancing with the Stars.  I mean, some of those clowns dance like they can't even hear the music.  I know I'm better off than that. That Mudder won't know what hit it when I come dancing on through.  Hahahaha. Had to laugh out loud at that one.  I know I'll make it across that finish line, but probably because I'm strapped to a stretcher. The dancing will have to wait until I regain the feeling in my legs.

So for now, I'm going to work on the strength to dance like no one's watching.  (Hopefully, no one is!).  And to make J.Lo proud.

Day 14--You can go back again. Also, I had a Mudder dream.

I used to be a member of Lifetime Fitness.  Charter member of our local one, in fact.  And it was a life-saver when I got laid off back in '09.  I spent most of my free time there because I didn't have much else to do.  The economy was in the toilet (was?) and there were no jobs to be found, so I got up and 5:00 and hit the 5:15 a.m. spin class three times a week, and then when I dropped my kiddo off at school, I'd ride my bike up there and stay for 2 or 3 more classes.  I loved it there.  And then my world kinda got turned upside down when my ex moved out and I had to get a full-time job again, and I didn't feel right about sticking my kid in the gym's day care after being in school all day and with sitters all afternoon.  So I quit.  But I've really missed it.

Last weekend when I hibernated in my house with very little human contact unless you count Jason Stackhouse on True Blood, I decided I needed to find something to do on the weekends when my kiddo is gone.  I'm not much for alone-time, but I couldn't really think of anything I like to do that doesn't involve my friends or my kid, something I'd feel comfortable doing on my own.  Aside from shopping.  I'd do that all day every day if I could spend someone else's money.  But obviously, there's limits to how much shopping one can do.  Well, unless you're a Kardashian.

And then I remembered the gym.  I couldn't really get in trouble there.  Well, not the same kind I'd get into at Target, for sure.  And it'd just be more Mudder training.  Perfect!  I called them right up today and signed back up, and we went after work to get our pictures taken and get our paperwork.  We're officially back!!

Whoever said you can't go back again never quit and rejoined Lifetime Fitness.  Because they let me right back in and sent me home with $300 worth of MyLT bucks so I can get massages and go to boot camp and have personal training sessions.  They welcomed me (and my monthly membership fee) back with open arms.  Who needs a boy in your life when your gym treats you so well.  Right?  Yeah...I know...it's not even the same.  I'd much rather have the boy.  Oh well.  Maybe that's what they meant when they said you can't go back again.  They probably weren't talking about renewing your gym membership.  Well, there were some cute boys there, too, which might come in handy when I finish this Mudder and am ready to rejoin the dating world.

Who am I kidding?  I swear I could do 5 Mudders and probably still won't be ready to rejoin the dating world!!  Probably bc I'd be dead, but assuming I survive, I can't imagine being ready for that in just 4 months.  Stupid stupid heart just won't cooperate with my carefully planned schedule for healing.  Hurry up, stupid stupid heart!

Speaking of the Mudder, I had a dream last night that we were already finished, and my TMP won some award for being a BadA$$ runner, and the guys hired him or something to train people on how to run.  He was showing some lady how to run without dragging her left foot behind her.  I was impressed.  Of course, I already know he's a BadA$$.  But I was mad because they'd run out of orange headbands just before we got done.  And that's really why I am doing all this work--who doesn't want a neon orange headband to wear around town??  There better be plenty of headbands left when I crawl across that finish line, or I'm cracking skulls.

I don't remember what tomorrow is on P90X, but I'm pretty sore from arms and shoulders today.  I upped my weight so that I was lifting more than the chick on the video.  That's a good sign, right?  I still struggle with triceps dips, but jeez, who doesn't?  Besides the Guy Who Can't Stop Talking.  He can do them one-legged and one-armed balancing upside down on a chair suspended from a pull-up bar.  But also, his arms are the size of trees. 

Tonight, I hope to have good dreams.  Finishing the Mudder in my dream was pretty cool.  But I wasn't muddy.  Maybe that's why I didn't get a headband.

Day 13--Sunday Bloody Sunday

I have had no human interaction today, with the exception of the leather-faced Target customer service lady who looks like Magda from "Something About Mary" and the cashier I bought cat food, grapes, and frozen dinners from.  And the cashier just handed me my receipt and said "have a nice day" so I don't think that really counted.  I have, of course, talked to my sweet dad because it is Father's Day.  And someone at a call center in India who understood my frustration with the fact that the electronic gift cards I bought Friday won't make it to the recipients by their birthday tomorrow because they're still "being processed."  Seriously?  Just hit "send!!"  Why does that take so long???  I could have gone to the store, bought the gift cards, mailed them, and the birthday boy and girl could have received and spent them by now.  Sheesh.  Understood my frustration, my a$$.  To apologize for my inconvenience, they're emailing me a $10 electronic gift card, which should arrive within 5-7 business days.  Thanks?

Why all the alone time?  My kiddo is out of town, and I didn't want to bug any of my buddies who were no doubt celebrating Father's Day with their husbands and dads, so I picked up the 4th season of True Blood.  And I watched all 12 episodes in 24 hours.  I don't think I've ever felt more like a hermit.  And there was so much blood.  Not exactly an uplifting show, True Blood.  And really, does everyone have to be something other than human?  Vampire, Werewolf, Were-Panther (???), Fairy, Shape-Shifter, Witch, Medium...am I leaving out any mythical creature?  Poor Jason Stackhouse is the only human left on the show.  After the final episode was over (a let-down in my humble opinion), I decided I'd better get up and salvage the rest of the weekend, so I did some housework (fun!) and work-work (even more fun!), and grocery shopped (more fun than housework and work-work!).  But at least I was out of my bed and hadn't witnessed any bloody death scenes in a few hours.

Speaking of bloody death scenes...Mudder Training.  Today's stretch day on P90X, so I decided I'd get a run in.  My Tough Mudder Partner (TMP) told me I need to do two 15 mile runs in the month before the race.  Is that all?  Holy crap.  I made the mistake of looking up the race course online and discovered that there are a few really long run stretches.  I assumed we'd run a mile or two, do an obstacle or two, run a mile or two, do another obstacle or two, and so on and so forth.  But no, they're all clumped up at the beginning and the end.  SO in addition to getting strong enough to scale walls, climb ropes, crawl through mud under barbed wire, and run through live electrically charged snakes hanging from the sky, I have to train for another half marathon.  Holy crap. 

Did I mention HOLY CRAP?!  I really do think I might die.  But at least it won't be at the fangs of a vampire.  And at least my name's not Sookie. 

Day 12--Could you love a leper? How about a zombie?

Because seriously, this cancer medicine is eating big holes in my face.  And I stopped using it 6 days ago.  Imagine what it'd be like if I hadn't.  My legs probably would've exploded, and my whole face would have rotted right off.  So I am sporting very stylish band-aids all over my face again--bigger than the ones I had to wear after my biopsies.  I'm not supposed to cover them up but no way am I going to subject the public to this.  I mean, it's stomach-turning.   I'd rather people stare because of the band-aids than vomit because of the leprosy.  Glad I made a pact with myself that I'm not even going to think about dating until after I finish the Mudder in October.  For lots of reasons, but now especially because I'd hate to show up looking like I'm in Stage 1 of the Zombie Virus.  Not a lot of guys want to take a chance that their date might decompose as the night progressed or decide to snack on their brain for dessert.  Surely this mess will heal up by October, right? 

Speaking of healing by October, I took a couple of huge emotional steps this weekend--like monumental, enormous, gargantuan (no one really uses that word much...it looks weird written down), really big!  I was a pretty big mess on Saturday, and I'm not just talking about my zombie face-craters.  Taking some advice from a member of Team Angie, I kinda went out on a limb, pretty far out on a limb.  It was a little scary, but I was already pretty unhappy, so nothing to lose, right?  Inched my way out there till I was about ready to fall off, and the limb snapped, and I came crashing down--hard--to the ground.  The fall knocked some serious sense into me--it jarred me out of my little chick-flick fantasy world, where every love story has a happy ending.  Some love stories just end.  Like mine did.  I finally got it, and and I'm finally ready to move on.  Well, as soon as I finish my race and my face no longer looks like that dude's from Poltergeist...the one who eats the maggot-filled fried chicken and ends up picking all the skin of his skull. 

Okay, back to business...I'm a week and a day into P90x and the only day I skipped was YogaX.  Pretty good work, I'd say.  11 more weeks to go.  Yesterday was all the craziness with the push-ups and pull-ups, and I still suck eggs at that one, but I tried.  The Guy Who Can't Seem to Stop Talking said that the folks in the class with him couldn't do any pull-ups or push-ups when they started, either.  Excited to see if he's right and I'm a pull-up/push-up maniac in 11 more weeks.  Today was plyometrics, and I actually like that one.  Bring on the sore muscles!!

I should get bonus Bad A$$ness points for spending the rest of the afternoon and the next two days climbing around on the roof of a mall in the Houston heat.  Let's see how many Mudders can hang for that!!!  So today, I'm working for the strength not to pass out and die from heat stroke.  Let's hope I don't die!

Day 11--Snakes in my Mudder Focking closet!!

Bonus points for mixing our temporary Tough Mudder team name (Bad A$$ Mudder Fockers) with Samuel L. Jackson's famous quote from Snakes on a Plane to describe how my day started.

So on the schedule for today was Legs and Back!...wait a minute, more drama to share from yesterday.  Almost forgot to tell my skin-cancer-medicine-freaky-side-effect story. 


My calves, ankles, and feet have been pretty swollen all week, and yesterday, they got really bad.  To the point where I thought slicing them open would give me some relief from the pressure.  Wracked my brain trying to figure out what could be causing it (too much salt?  not enough water?  a few extra diet Sprites--I don't drink soda; only water, and booze--too much good home cooking thanks to Mom and Dad), and it finally hit me that I started using this skin cancer medicine on Monday.  Maybe a side effect?  The only other time anything like this ever happened to me was from drinking blue drinks.  My friend and I got into a bottle of cheap blue margarita wine on one Sunday when we couldn't make real margaritas because down here in Texas, apparently God and the state legislature don't think we should drink on Sundays so the liquor stores are closed, and we both ended up all puffy-legged after a few drinks.  Convinced we were going to have an embolism and die, we called the company, and they refunded our money after we shipped them the remaining blue stuff for testing.  It's never happened since.

Well, when I Googled the side effects from this medicine--holy moly!!  Let me just say, I'd rather deal with the skin cancer.  I called my dermatologist and told his staff I would not be using it anymore--he'll have to cut the cancer off my face.  Give me scars anytime over Parkinson's Disease (yep, one of the reported side effects).  Anyway, by the time I got home last night (and no, I wasn't wearing 6 inch heels yesterday), they were swollen to the maximum swellage point.  It looked like my thighs were attached below my knees, and the only thing recognizable about my feet was the pretty coral toenail polish at the ends of the the puffy sausages that used to be my toes.  It really was painful.  I am not a Willy Wonka fan (shoot me--I know.  I don't like "Say Anything" either), but I remembered that bratty gum-chewing girl from the movie and how she got all blue and puffy and eventually popped, and I wondered if I'd wake up the next morning with popped legs. Not wanting to take any chances, when I got into bed, I propped them up on some big pillows and iced them down with bags of frozen veggies. 

Why is any of that important?  Because I couldn't do YogaX last night, and it wasn't because I fundamentally hate Yoga and was trying to get out of it.  It really felt like my legs could literally pop at any minute.  But the icing and elevation worked, and, thankfully, they were back to normal this morning.

So I got up and did Legs and Back!, which I liked very much, btw.  It's hard for sure, but I've always had strong legs (love, love, love spin class), so I don't mind squats and lunges.  And when I was all done, I walked into my closet, still wearing my shoes, and there was a snake coiled up next to my closet door frame.

It was small (I'm trying to upload the pic), but I thought it was a copperhead because we'll found those in our backyard, so I had to decide whether I wanted to run next door and wake up my neighbor Bill to come kill it and risk it slithering away with my daughter and her friend sleeping in the next room or if I was just going to man up and kill it myself.  All about the strong stuff these days, I fetched a shovel from the garage and cut the little snake's head off, in a few places, just to be safe.  It really is creepy that they keep moving, headless.

My daughter was impressed ("Cool!  Can I keep the head?"), and I have to say I was, too.  That I didn't jump around and scream like the girly-girl I usually am and just got the shovel and took care of business.  "You don't know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have."  Is that a sign that maybe I'm actually believing my own hype and I'm getting a little bit strong??   I do have this in the proper perspective...it was a tiny snake that didn't really mean any harm to me or my loved ones.  It wasn't all hissy and scary and about to strike.  So I don't mean to overly-dramatize it.  But the part of the story that makes me feel like I'm making some progress in my quest for emotional and physical Bad A$$ness is that I didn't depend on anyone else and just did what needed to be done.  Go, me.

Since I already got my strong on today, I'm not really working for anything special.  Just going to enjoy the rest of my Friday and the weekend knowing I'm a tiny-dead-snake-bit closer to Bad A$$ness. 

Day 10--I'm sore practically everywhere, but my feet hurt worst of all

Wore my supertall blue shoes to work today and decided it was a perfect day to trek through the tunnels to pick up my favorite chicken wrap for lunch.  Usually, my choice of footwear doesn't deter me from choosing a spot for lunch, but these are the tallest ones I own at a full 6 inch heel and a 2 inch platform.  Not sure how far I went distance-wise, but it was a 15-minute walk roundtrip, and it felt like I was walking on my tippy toes the whole time.  Got back to my office and sat down and realized a forgot a napkin, so I had to walk back to the kitchen for one.  I considered going without but I'm wearing white pants today, and I'm sloppy by nature, so to eat lunch in white pants with no napkin was just begging to wear my lunch all day.  So I tippy-toed back to my desk with a napkin and sat down just in time to decide I had to use the restroom.  Another trip out on the stilts.  But I'm finally back in my chair, and I might just have to go barefoot the rest of the day.

Okay, on to to the spots that are sore for reasons other than those caused by my fashion choices.  Let's see, today was Shoulders! Arms! & Ab Ripper!  Made it through 2 of the 3 (a full hour) before I had to stop and get ready for work.  I guess I get to do Ab Ripper! after I eat supper.  That'll be fun. 

And I hate to sound like a freak, but I actually really liked the Shoulders! Arms! workout today.  I was using the same weight the chick was using, and the only time I didn't keep up with the Guy Who Can't Seem to Stop Talking (I think his name is Tony) and the team was when they did dips using a chair.  I had a little stepladder and very wisely predicted that if I put my weight on one of the steps, it would collapse onto itself and I'd collapse onto the floor.  Quick mental survey of the other chairs in my house yielded no appropriate substitutes, and I made a note to go buy a chair that I could use.  So I took a little break. 

I must have done okay, though, because everything from my shoulder blades to my forearms hurts, and then my quads, hamstrings, calves, and rear are still sore from plyometrics yesterday, along with the added unexpected benefit of a very sore core.  It hurt just trying to sit up higher in my bed last night (and coughing right now--ouch!).  Chest and back are still sore from Monday's push-up/pull-up assault.  I'm running out of things to wear out.

Was supposed to get a run in tonight since today wasn't cardio, and because it's apparently National Running Day (who knew?  My TMP, that's who! Thanks Trey!)  and I already clicked "like" on a National Running Day picture on Facebook, which supposedly signified my promise to run today.  BUT (yes, an excuse is coming...wait for it...) it's my folks' last night visiting before they head back home tomorrow, so we're going to go eat and hang out.  Run will have to wait another day.

Aside from being able to feel my heartbeat in my feet, I am digging the soreness.  Let's see what happens after my already-sore abs get ripped apart tonight.  I may be singing a different tune.  But for now, I kinda like this P90X stuff. 

Today I'm working for the strength to deal with all the responsibilities of being a single mom again after my sweet folks leave tomorrow.  They've been visiting for two weeks and have been wonderful, like they always are.  They make my life so easy, and we love having them here.  We're going to miss them!! 

Day 9--why does that guy have a band-aid on his artificial leg?

I'm not being insensitive.  I was just really focused on why the dude in P90X who has an artificial leg had a band-aid on it.  At first when the Guy Who Can't Seem to Stop Talking said something about the dude in the front only having one leg, I thought he was joking, but then I focused in and noticed it was definitely kinda shiny and didn't have leg hair but that's when I was perplexed by the band-aid.  Any ideas?

Okay, so I did the first day of P90X yesterday, and I didn't die but it was only because I couldn't do most of what they were doing.  It was almost entirely push-ups (20 different variations) and pull-ups (the same).  So I did what I could, and I could definitely feel it today, but I need a LOT of work on upper body.  I will not make it across one rung of the monkey-bars-from-hell in the Tough Mudder in my current (weak) state.  Not sure when upper body comes back in the rotation--I think I do it once a week for the first three weeks.  Hopefully, next Monday will be better.

Today was Plyometrics and you know, it wasn't terrible . Sure, I wasn't jumping as high as those folks, not even as high as the guy with the band-aided artificial leg, but I was jumping.  I didn't stop except during designated water breaks.  Well, wait a minute, I did get a little sidetracked when he hit the sporty section towards the end.  We were supposed to pitch and catch an imaginary ball, and then shoot baskets and then do some footbally drill thingie, and because I've never been sporty (ie, coordinated), it took me awhile to get my bearings on that one.  Brought back bad memories from middle school P.E. class.  But overall, pretty decent attempt, I think.

I really like getting it done first thing in the morning.  Even though I was far from perfect, it made me feel a little bit strong when I started out the day feeling pretty weak.  I woke up at 4 a.m. because one of my dogs was barking at nothing in particular, and I couldn't go back to sleep.  Really with the alarm set for just about an hour later, what would have been the point anyway?  Laying there, alone, waiting for the sun to rise, all you can really do is think.  And sometimes thoughts can make you feel like you haven't made any real progress.  You think you should be farther along in your journey than you are.  And the fact that you're not, that you're still where you are, makes you wonder if you'll ever get there.  Makes you question if you even want to get there.

Sometimes you can't control your thoughts.  But you can control whether you get your butt out of bed and do something that isn't fun, doesn't come easy, makes you hurt, gets you stronger.  And when you're done it won't matter if you're still where you are.  You know you'll get there when you're ready.

Who knows why that guy had a band-aid on a leg that couldn't bleed...I can't imagine what it must be like to get used to living without one of your limbs.  And this guy was doing more than just adapting.  He was kicking some serious butt.  With one original leg.  I'm sure his journey, emotional and physical, to get to where he is today from whatever it was that caused him to lose his leg, was a long one. I'm sure he laid in bed in the early morning hours before the sun rose and wondered whether he'd ever feel like a whole person again.  And I know without knowing a single other thing about this guy with the band-aid on his artificial leg that at some point he was ready.

Today I'm working on the strength to quit beating myself up for not being ready yet.  It's called a journey for a reason.  Just have to get up today and make today great.  And not worry about where I'll be tomorrow.  It may take 4 months or 4 years or forever, but I just have to keep going and eventually, I'll get there.

Day 8--another pull-up bar construction rant, with photos!

This is a family program, I suppose, so I can't really tell you how completely and totally frustrated and exasperated and irritated I was yesterday trying to put together this "easy to assemble!  no drilling required!" pull-up bar from hell. 

For the record, I admit I'm HORRIBLE about reading directions that come with stuff that needs to be assembled.  If I can't figure it out just by looking at it, it's just not going to get put together until a male friend or relative can get talked into do it for me.  Sorry ladies, I know I'm supposed to be all girl-power-we-can-do-anything-boys-can-do but really, do y'all put stuff together in your houses or do you make some guy do it for you?  Or better--hire someone?  Yeah, I thought so.

Yes, I know I didn't make my bed today

HOW-EV-ER...this stupid Pull-Up-Bar-From-Hell came with one little photographic diagram with teeny tiny arrows pointing to itty bitty parts and I guess someone less averse to following assembly instructions might have taken the time to study it carefully and lay out all the parts and match them up, etc., etc., blah, blah, blah. 

But I didn't.  I just grabbed the biggest two pieces and shoved them together to make the longest bar part.  And then the picture showed these two curvy bits that screw into the longest bar part, and I managed to get one on right but apparently got distracted --SQUIRREL!!!--and instead of a second curvy bit, I stuck a straight short deal on.  I have pictures to share...let's see if I can figure out how to upload them. 

I really should have made my bed

Anyway, had to unscrew the straight short deal from the longest bar part and attach the second curvy bit, but I failed to notice that the curvy bits had one finished edged and one capped edge (the reason for which I learned two steps from now...), so I had to unscrew the second upside-down curvy bit and re-attach it rightside up.

Meanwhile, the background music playing for my construction project was my daughter's current YouTube infatuation:  that little British boy whose brother, Charlie, bit his finger, set to some weird music.  "Ow, Charlie" [synthesizer beat for one, two, three, four] "Charlie bit me" [one, two, three, four] "Oww!  Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!" [one, two, three, four...].  Looking back, perhaps some calming ocean sounds or Yanni would have been better than that.  I am guessing anything would have been better than that. 

Okay, got both curvy bits on and then realized some other handle thingies have to be popped into the unfinished edges of the curvy bits (see, told you I figured out later why the edges were not both finished!) before the curvy bits can get screwed into the longest bar part.  So yes, I had to unscrew both curvy bits AGAIN so I could pop the stupid handle thingies in and then screw them both back in.

Did I mention the screws look identical but are actually two different sizes?  Ask me how I figured that out.  Yep, because after spending what felt like days using this munchkin-sized screwdriver wrenchy tool thing to tighten up this screw bolt whatever, I couldn't figure out why it wasn't coming out the other end so I could put the little nut there.  Ah, genius, because it's NOT FRIGGIN' LONG ENOUGH.  Unscrew that one, put in the right one.  Let's move on.

Two more handle looking deals, but only one screw left.  Guess I don't need those for anything. [tossing handle looking deals aside].

So according to the packaging, this "easy to assemble!! no drilling required!!" pull-up bar pops right into your door frame with nothing required in your door frame to stabilize it.  Except of course they gave me this little piece of aluminum with one pointy side that I was supposed to drive, by sheer force I guess since the screwdriver wrenchy tool was no help, into the frame of the door.

Blurry shot, but there's paint
definitely missing!

Luckily, my dad has been visiting, so I called him in to help with the wedging because it just wasn't happening.  (Why, do you ask, did I not ask him for help with the Pull-Up-Bar-From-Hell?  Because he broke his hand and is in a cast or I certainly would have!)  Well, it wasn't happening for my dad either, and because he doesn't not know the meaning of the phrase "give up" he pounded on that stupid little arrow thing with a hammer until he managed to scrape a mess of dark grey paint off the wall above my closet door.  Hard-of-hearing in addition to stubborn, my mom and I both hollered at him to stop and he kept right on hammering.  And stripping paint.  The pointy piece eventually broke, so my dad had to stop.  Praise the Lord the thing was made in China otherwise we might still be there watching him trying to wrestle it into the door frame.  Not much of a stabilizer if it can't handle a 30 minute hammer attack, so I opted to go without (as if there was a choice).

TA-DA!!!

Popped the thing into the door frame, and IT WORKED!!  Jumped up to grab it and hang, and I DIDN'T FALL ON MY REAR!  Attempted a pull-up, unassisted, and COULDN'T MOVE AN INCH!!  Oh well, that's for another day.

Today, I put something together, pretty much all by myself.  And even though I wanted to kill the makers of the stupid thing, putting it together all by myself didn't kill me. 

The hard part's over...on to Day1 of P90x...to be continued...