...to carry out to my car this morning from my friend who forgot to send it home from school with my kid yesterday.
So I got a one-day pass on starting this exercise program from hell.
Nothing to report--just didn't want anyone to wonder if I actually did die.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Day 5, more or less--Bugs don't taste that bad
Still waiting on my dear, sweet friend to share her P90X with me, so right now I'm just running. I have a long way to go to get back up to 10 miles. Haven't run that far since 2009, and the last time I did it, I fell flat on my face and scraped up my knee and battered my ancient iPod during the San Antonio Rock & Roll half marathon because I got distracted by something shiney and tripped over a road hump. A little traumatic and kind of embarrassing to have to limp the last couple of miles, bloody and beaten down, to the finish line. But on the bright side, I'm glad I didn't fall down on mile 1.
So I went out running last night after supper, and while the weather was certainly much more pleasant than my morning run the day before, I wish I'd have been wearing one of those crazy looking beekeeper hats with the mesh veil thingie hanging down. There were clouds of those annoying gnats all along the course last night. I could see some of them coming and make sure to close my eyes and mouth before I hit them at full speed (which, I confess, feels like about 1 m.p.h. at this early stage in my training). Most of the time. But I'm pretty sure I ate a few bugs last night. And probably took some of their friends home in my hair. No matter how carefully I chose my course, and how cautiously I rounded the corners, some bugs managed to find me.
Today's been a hard day. For really no reason at all. I've been much stronger lately. I have actually been moving ahead at a pretty nice pace, if I do say so myself. And of course the ever-present support system in my life is a life-saver. A special shout-out today to a new member of that team who has already made a big impact in a very short time.
But despite how strong I feel and how carefully I plan to avoid all things that could cause a bad day, sometimes when dealing with things like heartbreak, the occasional bad day--like a cloud of bugs on an evening run--is unavoidable.
All you can do is get through the day and hope the bugs are gone tomorrow. And if they're not, go a little slower and know that if you end up breathing in a few, they aren't gonna kill ya.
Today I'm after the strength to recognize that clouds of bugs don't have to ruin your day, or your progress. Just keep moving forward.
P90X is tomorrow. Wish me luck, friends. At least there are no clouds of bugs in my exercise room!! If you don't hear from me by noon, chances are, I might have just died.
So I went out running last night after supper, and while the weather was certainly much more pleasant than my morning run the day before, I wish I'd have been wearing one of those crazy looking beekeeper hats with the mesh veil thingie hanging down. There were clouds of those annoying gnats all along the course last night. I could see some of them coming and make sure to close my eyes and mouth before I hit them at full speed (which, I confess, feels like about 1 m.p.h. at this early stage in my training). Most of the time. But I'm pretty sure I ate a few bugs last night. And probably took some of their friends home in my hair. No matter how carefully I chose my course, and how cautiously I rounded the corners, some bugs managed to find me.
Today's been a hard day. For really no reason at all. I've been much stronger lately. I have actually been moving ahead at a pretty nice pace, if I do say so myself. And of course the ever-present support system in my life is a life-saver. A special shout-out today to a new member of that team who has already made a big impact in a very short time.
But despite how strong I feel and how carefully I plan to avoid all things that could cause a bad day, sometimes when dealing with things like heartbreak, the occasional bad day--like a cloud of bugs on an evening run--is unavoidable.
All you can do is get through the day and hope the bugs are gone tomorrow. And if they're not, go a little slower and know that if you end up breathing in a few, they aren't gonna kill ya.
Today I'm after the strength to recognize that clouds of bugs don't have to ruin your day, or your progress. Just keep moving forward.
P90X is tomorrow. Wish me luck, friends. At least there are no clouds of bugs in my exercise room!! If you don't hear from me by noon, chances are, I might have just died.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Day 4--I smell bad
Summer's definitely here. I don't know this because the kids are excited that school's almost out. Or because you can find fresh corn in HEB. Or because all my favorite shows are over till the end of October. I know it because 2 hours after coming in from my run, I'm still sweaty.
And I smell horrible. I have a day of yardwork planned, so not much sense in showering just to get sweaty and smelly again. Call me a conservationist. Or lazy. But there's no one to impress, and I imagine the guys in Lowe's are used to smelly customers.
There's just something about a run. My Tough Mudder Hardcore Bad A$$ partner and I were just chatting about this yesterday. It doesn't matter how slow. It doesn't matter that everyone passing by in cars, on bikes, or on foot thinks you're about to keel over. It does something to you. Well, it does lots of things to you, but mentally, there's nothing better than an hour run to clear your head. It has the power to do so many things, but my favorite is the free therapy it provides.
I had some trouble today because it's so frickin' hot already, even at 7:00 a.m. I may have to move to Colorado to train for this race. I have to get used to the heat and humidity again, but I know I will. I always end up training for something over the summer. I'll adjust.
There's just something about sweat. The soak-you-through kind. The have-to-peel-your-clothes-off kind. It is the clearest message there is that you're working, and you're working hard. And getting stronger. Maybe not by much. But every day, with every run, with every drop of sweat, you are getting stronger.
So today I'm sporting my sweaty stench as a badge of honor. If you see me around town, stay a good 15 feet away. I'll know why.
Today I worked for the strength to just keep putting one foot in front of the other. I got my sweat on and moved forward. Today, I am proud. And I definitely didn't die.
And I smell horrible. I have a day of yardwork planned, so not much sense in showering just to get sweaty and smelly again. Call me a conservationist. Or lazy. But there's no one to impress, and I imagine the guys in Lowe's are used to smelly customers.
There's just something about a run. My Tough Mudder Hardcore Bad A$$ partner and I were just chatting about this yesterday. It doesn't matter how slow. It doesn't matter that everyone passing by in cars, on bikes, or on foot thinks you're about to keel over. It does something to you. Well, it does lots of things to you, but mentally, there's nothing better than an hour run to clear your head. It has the power to do so many things, but my favorite is the free therapy it provides.
I had some trouble today because it's so frickin' hot already, even at 7:00 a.m. I may have to move to Colorado to train for this race. I have to get used to the heat and humidity again, but I know I will. I always end up training for something over the summer. I'll adjust.
There's just something about sweat. The soak-you-through kind. The have-to-peel-your-clothes-off kind. It is the clearest message there is that you're working, and you're working hard. And getting stronger. Maybe not by much. But every day, with every run, with every drop of sweat, you are getting stronger.
So today I'm sporting my sweaty stench as a badge of honor. If you see me around town, stay a good 15 feet away. I'll know why.
Today I worked for the strength to just keep putting one foot in front of the other. I got my sweat on and moved forward. Today, I am proud. And I definitely didn't die.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Day 3, the sequel--Adam Lambert and Salt & Pepa
I already promised/warned that the subject of letting go would probably be one I'd have to blather on about a lot during these next four months. Same disclaimer as before: don't read it if you don't want a glimpse into my broken soul.
I'm a huge Adam Lambert fan. Judge all you want. No effect on me. I think he's brilliant. And beautiful. And his new album just came out this week. There's a song on it called "Underneath." And it's about honesty and seeing a person completely. All the scars we try to hide from people, all the pain we pretend doesn't exist.
I'm not pretending. Not here. I won't get where I need to go if I do.
So underneath, I'm frozen. I'm stuck in this weird emotional purgatory where I can't go forward and I can't go back.
I'm sure there will be many times on that obstacle course from hell where I'll feel the same way--I will have to climb that wall or crawl under that barbed wire or run through that fire, and I'm not going to want to go forward. Because where I am is safe. I can't get hurt more standing still. Well, unless some other Mudder runs my frozen butt down on the course. But aside from that, if I don't move, I'm okay. Still hurting from surviving the first part of the course, but no new pain, no new risks.
Problem with that is, I'll be there forever. Stuck. Because I won't be able to go back. The only way through is to go forward. If my Tough Mudder partner and team are reading, be prepared to just push me. I might not want to go. I might even cry. Well, I think that's a given. I will cry. But I will have to move forward.
Just like I have to do now. I might need a push or two or ten, but standing still is not an option.
The only song that comes to mind is "Push It" by Salt and Pepa, which really doesn't fit the situation, but it's sure fun to dance to on a Friday afternoon. So all you fly mothas, get on out there and dance. Dance I said.
And with that, I'm off to take a step forward...
I'm a huge Adam Lambert fan. Judge all you want. No effect on me. I think he's brilliant. And beautiful. And his new album just came out this week. There's a song on it called "Underneath." And it's about honesty and seeing a person completely. All the scars we try to hide from people, all the pain we pretend doesn't exist.
I'm not pretending. Not here. I won't get where I need to go if I do.
So underneath, I'm frozen. I'm stuck in this weird emotional purgatory where I can't go forward and I can't go back.
I'm sure there will be many times on that obstacle course from hell where I'll feel the same way--I will have to climb that wall or crawl under that barbed wire or run through that fire, and I'm not going to want to go forward. Because where I am is safe. I can't get hurt more standing still. Well, unless some other Mudder runs my frozen butt down on the course. But aside from that, if I don't move, I'm okay. Still hurting from surviving the first part of the course, but no new pain, no new risks.
Problem with that is, I'll be there forever. Stuck. Because I won't be able to go back. The only way through is to go forward. If my Tough Mudder partner and team are reading, be prepared to just push me. I might not want to go. I might even cry. Well, I think that's a given. I will cry. But I will have to move forward.
Just like I have to do now. I might need a push or two or ten, but standing still is not an option.
The only song that comes to mind is "Push It" by Salt and Pepa, which really doesn't fit the situation, but it's sure fun to dance to on a Friday afternoon. So all you fly mothas, get on out there and dance. Dance I said.
And with that, I'm off to take a step forward...
Day 3ish--the fallen Catholic and push-ups
Bless me, Readers, for I have slacked. It's been two days since my last workout. For those non-Fallen-Catholics out there, that's me, stepping into the workout confessional, asking for forgiveness.
I guess Self didn't do a good enough job of convincing Self to get serious. And to get out of bed yesterday. Woke up with a bowling ball for a head this morning--must be a sinus infection coming on--so I stayed in bed too long AGAIN today.
I'm going to chalk yesterday up to a day off and quit YELLING at Self about it. Because I'm a fallen CATHOLIC, I'm still really good at the guilt, but because I'm a FALLEN Catholic, I can let it go pretty quickly after acknowledging that I suck. Should I have gotten up? Yep. Am I a miserable excuse for a Bad A$$ Tough Mudder in Training? Nope. Just a regular girl trying to become a SuperGirl. That takes time, and it's week one, so no one is beating anyone up over a few missed days. After I say 4 Hail Marys and 7 Our Fathers.
About to score P90x from a buddy, so I will be cranking that up next week. I've decided I need the guidance, ie, peer pressure, ie, reason to keep going other than my own drive. At this early stage in my training life, I am weak. It's too easy to stop. And I know that by plugging a DVD in, I can still turn it off and go downstairs and lay on the couch, but having someone there to yell at me--even through a TV screen--helps keep me going. I can't move a personal trainer in with me to keep me in the workout room and off the couch, so short of that, the yelling man on P90X is gonna have to do. I've heard it's murder, which is perfect for the Mudder. Chick on the informercial was pounding out push-ups like a Marine, and she swears she could barely do girlie ones before she started. I know, I know...that's all fake propaganda BS and already fit people are paid to get all lumpy and slow so they can show their amazing transformations on sorta-live TV at 2 a.m. when no one but we insomniacs are awake. Either way, I'm supposed to be doing push-ups and pull-ups and other really hard things that suck, so I'm gonna see where this yelling man on P90X gets me after a month...hope I don't die.
Today, I'm working for the strength to do one Marine-quality push-up. Just one. Sage advice from a workout-guru friend of mine. Once you do one, try two, and then three, and you get the point. So expect jubilation from this weak-minded/weak-bodied/weak-spirited girl when I manage to do just one. And when I do, you'll hear me yelling, "Hallelujah. Holy $hit. Where's the Tylenol?" (Bonus points if you can name the movie...)
Today's note is in memory of our dear friend Brian "Mufasa" Smith and in immeasurable appreciation of all the other men and women who have lost their lives defending our freedom.
I guess Self didn't do a good enough job of convincing Self to get serious. And to get out of bed yesterday. Woke up with a bowling ball for a head this morning--must be a sinus infection coming on--so I stayed in bed too long AGAIN today.
I'm going to chalk yesterday up to a day off and quit YELLING at Self about it. Because I'm a fallen CATHOLIC, I'm still really good at the guilt, but because I'm a FALLEN Catholic, I can let it go pretty quickly after acknowledging that I suck. Should I have gotten up? Yep. Am I a miserable excuse for a Bad A$$ Tough Mudder in Training? Nope. Just a regular girl trying to become a SuperGirl. That takes time, and it's week one, so no one is beating anyone up over a few missed days. After I say 4 Hail Marys and 7 Our Fathers.
About to score P90x from a buddy, so I will be cranking that up next week. I've decided I need the guidance, ie, peer pressure, ie, reason to keep going other than my own drive. At this early stage in my training life, I am weak. It's too easy to stop. And I know that by plugging a DVD in, I can still turn it off and go downstairs and lay on the couch, but having someone there to yell at me--even through a TV screen--helps keep me going. I can't move a personal trainer in with me to keep me in the workout room and off the couch, so short of that, the yelling man on P90X is gonna have to do. I've heard it's murder, which is perfect for the Mudder. Chick on the informercial was pounding out push-ups like a Marine, and she swears she could barely do girlie ones before she started. I know, I know...that's all fake propaganda BS and already fit people are paid to get all lumpy and slow so they can show their amazing transformations on sorta-live TV at 2 a.m. when no one but we insomniacs are awake. Either way, I'm supposed to be doing push-ups and pull-ups and other really hard things that suck, so I'm gonna see where this yelling man on P90X gets me after a month...hope I don't die.
Today, I'm working for the strength to do one Marine-quality push-up. Just one. Sage advice from a workout-guru friend of mine. Once you do one, try two, and then three, and you get the point. So expect jubilation from this weak-minded/weak-bodied/weak-spirited girl when I manage to do just one. And when I do, you'll hear me yelling, "Hallelujah. Holy $hit. Where's the Tylenol?" (Bonus points if you can name the movie...)
Today's note is in memory of our dear friend Brian "Mufasa" Smith and in immeasurable appreciation of all the other men and women who have lost their lives defending our freedom.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Day 2, pt.1--it takes real skill to snooze for 1.5 hours
That's what happens when you stay up past 1 a.m. the night before. I just could not close my eyes last night. And this morning, I could not open them. I was so far gone that I pressed snooze from 5:15 until 6:45. And I know I managed to fall back into a deep sleep for each of those 9 minute snooze sessions. How does that happen?? So I guess I'm Muddering after work tonight. And then going straight to bed.
Hmmmm...so the strength I was working for on Monday (to get my lazy bum outta bed) isn't working so well for me yet. I guess I just need to put self to bed at the same time as daughter, and then maybe I won't be dragging when the alarm goes off at 5:15.
I used to get my unemployed (AKA, no reason to get up early) rear out of bed for a 5:15 spin class three times a week. No one got why I did it when I had all day to spend at the gym. But once I got in the groove, I woke up at 4:45 every day, no matter what. Hoping that kicks in at some point here.
Also, need to teach self the lesson that Pinterest will be there in the morning, as will Facebook, and my DVR'd reruns of The Office. Nothing needs to keep me up late at night. I'm in training. Wait a sec, I don't think you heard yourself--LOUDER!! I'M IN TRAINING!!! (Caps, as we all know, is the cyber-way to indicate THAT I'M YELLING AT MYSELF!) So today I am working for the strength to recognize I am in training and to act accordingly. No more late nights before early morning scheduled training sessions.
Self, are you listening? ARE YOU LISTENING???
My Tough Mudder Partner (hopefully--still working on him--will let him remain anonymous until he officially signs on) is one of those crazy, hardcore bada$$es that could stay up drinking all night, get up and run a marathon, spend the rest of the weekend living right on the beach with his running club friends, and show up bright and early at his job Monday morning and think really complicated math-y thoughts all day. And for him, deciding whether to do the Tough Mudder required little more than checking his race calendar to see if there were any conflicts. He could get up and run it tomorrow and be good to run another race the next day (which, if he signs on, is exactly what he's going to do.)
I'm SO nowhere near there, but man, how cool would it be to achieve that level of ultimate bad-a$$ness someday?? I'd like to be that chick that can say "sure, I'll go do that insanely brutal 10 mile obstacle course run with you assuming I'm not doing an IronMan that day."
Goals are good. Babysteps are good, too. And mine is just to focus on the fact that training for this monstrous endeavor takes dedication, and since I've gone to the trouble to register, make a huge fuss, and even write a daily blog about my experiences, maybe I better buck up and get dedicated. Go to bed early so you can get up early and work on achieving your own level of bad-a$$ness. Will check in later with results of post-work workout!!
Happy Hump Day, from the Supremely Dedicated Soon-to-Be Ultimate Bad A$$ Mudder IN TRAINING!!
As a reminder, this is what I'm in for, in case you haven't seen it...
TOUGH MUDDER 2012
Hmmmm...so the strength I was working for on Monday (to get my lazy bum outta bed) isn't working so well for me yet. I guess I just need to put self to bed at the same time as daughter, and then maybe I won't be dragging when the alarm goes off at 5:15.
I used to get my unemployed (AKA, no reason to get up early) rear out of bed for a 5:15 spin class three times a week. No one got why I did it when I had all day to spend at the gym. But once I got in the groove, I woke up at 4:45 every day, no matter what. Hoping that kicks in at some point here.
Also, need to teach self the lesson that Pinterest will be there in the morning, as will Facebook, and my DVR'd reruns of The Office. Nothing needs to keep me up late at night. I'm in training. Wait a sec, I don't think you heard yourself--LOUDER!! I'M IN TRAINING!!! (Caps, as we all know, is the cyber-way to indicate THAT I'M YELLING AT MYSELF!) So today I am working for the strength to recognize I am in training and to act accordingly. No more late nights before early morning scheduled training sessions.
Self, are you listening? ARE YOU LISTENING???
My Tough Mudder Partner (hopefully--still working on him--will let him remain anonymous until he officially signs on) is one of those crazy, hardcore bada$$es that could stay up drinking all night, get up and run a marathon, spend the rest of the weekend living right on the beach with his running club friends, and show up bright and early at his job Monday morning and think really complicated math-y thoughts all day. And for him, deciding whether to do the Tough Mudder required little more than checking his race calendar to see if there were any conflicts. He could get up and run it tomorrow and be good to run another race the next day (which, if he signs on, is exactly what he's going to do.)
I'm SO nowhere near there, but man, how cool would it be to achieve that level of ultimate bad-a$$ness someday?? I'd like to be that chick that can say "sure, I'll go do that insanely brutal 10 mile obstacle course run with you assuming I'm not doing an IronMan that day."
Goals are good. Babysteps are good, too. And mine is just to focus on the fact that training for this monstrous endeavor takes dedication, and since I've gone to the trouble to register, make a huge fuss, and even write a daily blog about my experiences, maybe I better buck up and get dedicated. Go to bed early so you can get up early and work on achieving your own level of bad-a$$ness. Will check in later with results of post-work workout!!
Happy Hump Day, from the Supremely Dedicated Soon-to-Be Ultimate Bad A$$ Mudder IN TRAINING!!
As a reminder, this is what I'm in for, in case you haven't seen it...
TOUGH MUDDER 2012
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Day 1.2--The first rule of Fight Club is...
Warning for any readers just in this for the tales about how bad I suck at Tough Muddering, today is one of those self-discovery posts. If you're not in for that, today's not your day to read me.
Two weeks after ending our relationship, he's still the last thought in my head when I finally fall asleep at night. Last night, it was our first kiss, that day in the rain. The perfect first kiss that forever ended life as I knew it. My instinct is to crowd those memories out with thoughts of other things--any other things--how much dishwashing detergent I have left and if I need to add that to my shopping list or whether Bachelorette Emily is really in it for love or for fame (I vote fame)or how much fluffier my new happy yellow comforter is and how glad I am to be snuggled up in it. But then I think about that scene from Fight Club when Brad Pitt burns Edward Norton's hand with acid and forces him to feel the pain, not to shut it out, give into it, accept it, because, he says, "it's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything."
I'm a big Brad fan myself--he's right there at the top of my "Celebrities I'm Allowed to Have a Fling With" list (which has been made irrelevant as a result of my divorce and now my recent break-up)--but I think I'd have been a little pissed about having to learn that lesson that way, even if he was the one dishing out the acid.
Anyway, I realize my pain is miniscule compared to that of so many others. I get that, I do. But it doesn't make my pain less real. I offer, too, that having a taste of true love and believing you were one of the few lucky ones to have it the rest of your life, only to lose it, is up there near the top of the "Emotional Pains That Really Suck" list.
I guess some may say it's pathetic or sad to admit that a lost love is still on your mind, and on your mind a lot. I'd prefer to call it honest. Whatever you call it, that pain, that loss, is probably my biggest reason for starting this whole journey. So I expect it will come up a lot.
Letting go requires strength, a kind I don't yet have, but that I'm trying to find. When I let go, I do believe I'll be able to do anything. And I don't need an acid burn on my hand to learn that lesson. (But I'm happy to stand around in the kitchen of an abandoned house with Brad Pitt so he can lecture me about it). Just a tattoo on my foot, reminding me simply to "be happy." That's as close to acid burn as I get.
Borrowing a break-up rule-of-thumb from Charlotte York on Sex and the City, it takes half the length of a relationship to get over it, so by those calculations, my "letting go" moment will time perfectly with the Tough Mudder, which is about 4 months away. Charlotte couldn't have planned it better herself. And let me clarify that by letting go I mean I just want to lose the pain. Not the memories. Not the love. I will keep those tucked away inside a special place in my heart forever. To quote Dr. Seuss, I want to "smile because it happened" not "cry because it ended."
So this morning, on Day 1.2, I am working for the strength to let go.
UPDATE: The Mudderling Bootcamp calls for 3 days of bootcamp circuits and 2 of cardio. I decided to do my cardio this morning and stay on a MWF/T Th schedule and take the bootcamp back up tomorrow. So I ran on the treadmill. And anyone who knows me knows that's almost as painful a torture method as getting eaten alive by mosquitoes while attempting exercises my body was not designed to do. Absolutely HATE the treadmill. I don't get how people do it, and do it for long distances/time periods. All I think about is stopping. Right foot (can I stop now?), left foot (is it over yet?), right foot (how long have I been on here??), left foot (this SUCKS)... But I do have to get back up to being able to run 10 miles. I'm opting to do my runs outside at night with my babygirl leading the way on her bike. So maybe Tues/Thurs will be Stay.Snuggled.Up.In.My.Fluffy.Yellow.Comforter.A.Little.Longer days and I'll tackle the runs at night. That sounds like a nice way to spend the next 137 days.
So let's see how far I can run tonight. The problem with running, however, is that it gives one lots of time to think. Lots of time to reflect, reminisce, analyze...pour that acid on, Brad. Let's do this.
Two weeks after ending our relationship, he's still the last thought in my head when I finally fall asleep at night. Last night, it was our first kiss, that day in the rain. The perfect first kiss that forever ended life as I knew it. My instinct is to crowd those memories out with thoughts of other things--any other things--how much dishwashing detergent I have left and if I need to add that to my shopping list or whether Bachelorette Emily is really in it for love or for fame (I vote fame)or how much fluffier my new happy yellow comforter is and how glad I am to be snuggled up in it. But then I think about that scene from Fight Club when Brad Pitt burns Edward Norton's hand with acid and forces him to feel the pain, not to shut it out, give into it, accept it, because, he says, "it's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything."
I'm a big Brad fan myself--he's right there at the top of my "Celebrities I'm Allowed to Have a Fling With" list (which has been made irrelevant as a result of my divorce and now my recent break-up)--but I think I'd have been a little pissed about having to learn that lesson that way, even if he was the one dishing out the acid.
Anyway, I realize my pain is miniscule compared to that of so many others. I get that, I do. But it doesn't make my pain less real. I offer, too, that having a taste of true love and believing you were one of the few lucky ones to have it the rest of your life, only to lose it, is up there near the top of the "Emotional Pains That Really Suck" list.
I guess some may say it's pathetic or sad to admit that a lost love is still on your mind, and on your mind a lot. I'd prefer to call it honest. Whatever you call it, that pain, that loss, is probably my biggest reason for starting this whole journey. So I expect it will come up a lot.
Letting go requires strength, a kind I don't yet have, but that I'm trying to find. When I let go, I do believe I'll be able to do anything. And I don't need an acid burn on my hand to learn that lesson. (But I'm happy to stand around in the kitchen of an abandoned house with Brad Pitt so he can lecture me about it). Just a tattoo on my foot, reminding me simply to "be happy." That's as close to acid burn as I get.
Borrowing a break-up rule-of-thumb from Charlotte York on Sex and the City, it takes half the length of a relationship to get over it, so by those calculations, my "letting go" moment will time perfectly with the Tough Mudder, which is about 4 months away. Charlotte couldn't have planned it better herself. And let me clarify that by letting go I mean I just want to lose the pain. Not the memories. Not the love. I will keep those tucked away inside a special place in my heart forever. To quote Dr. Seuss, I want to "smile because it happened" not "cry because it ended."
So this morning, on Day 1.2, I am working for the strength to let go.
UPDATE: The Mudderling Bootcamp calls for 3 days of bootcamp circuits and 2 of cardio. I decided to do my cardio this morning and stay on a MWF/T Th schedule and take the bootcamp back up tomorrow. So I ran on the treadmill. And anyone who knows me knows that's almost as painful a torture method as getting eaten alive by mosquitoes while attempting exercises my body was not designed to do. Absolutely HATE the treadmill. I don't get how people do it, and do it for long distances/time periods. All I think about is stopping. Right foot (can I stop now?), left foot (is it over yet?), right foot (how long have I been on here??), left foot (this SUCKS)... But I do have to get back up to being able to run 10 miles. I'm opting to do my runs outside at night with my babygirl leading the way on her bike. So maybe Tues/Thurs will be Stay.Snuggled.Up.In.My.Fluffy.Yellow.Comforter.A.Little.Longer days and I'll tackle the runs at night. That sounds like a nice way to spend the next 137 days.
So let's see how far I can run tonight. The problem with running, however, is that it gives one lots of time to think. Lots of time to reflect, reminisce, analyze...pour that acid on, Brad. Let's do this.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Day 1: and it begins
How many times can I snooze and still get a workout in? It's 5:22, and I'm still sleepy. That Tough Mudder really is gonna kill me if I can't even roll out of bed on Day 1. I felt all jazzed and excited and stuff last night. Maybe I shoulda worked out then. Alarm is beep-beep-beeping at me again. I guess that means it's time. Mudderling bootcamp... I hope I don't die.
UPDATE: I didn't die, but I'm pretty sure I will if I actually finish the entire thing. I blame high school football coaches for my pain. Burpees? Really? I'm completely sure I didn't do those even close to right, but my goal today was to just keep moving. I almost got clotheslined by the Christmas lights strung between the trees in my backyard, which used to be a shiny, happy place, and now houses the Bootcamp From Hell.
Today, I tried out each exercise on the list from the Tough Mudder: Mudderling (AKA, wimpy loser who might as well throw in the towel now) Bootcamp, and yeah, some of them really sucked. I have to say I did just fine on jumping jacks, although I definitely need to invest in some super-sturdy sports bras to keep The Girls in line during these workouts. Pretty much all the rest of them, well, sucked.
And I didn't bathe in bug spray before going out there, and down here in the Swamp, I know better. I became mosquito food in minutes. I think I drew them in from the next two counties over, all the CO2 I was exhaling (translation: I was panting like an old dog on a very hot day).
Tomorrow should be better...this was the dry run. It's okay if Day 1 is actually in two parts, right? This is my training, I can do it however the heck I want. So yeah, let's try this again tomorrow with bug spray. Also, I need a huge stopwatch to keep track of the time. One of those ginormous digital ones I can stick to the wall. Or a friend to just come to the backyard three times a week and yell "TWO MINUTES" at me as I start each circuit. Any takers?
Okay, so I decided that each day I'd write down what kind of strength I'm training for, you know, because this whole thing is a journey to becoming a strong person, mind, body and spirit. I guess today would be the strength to just turn off the alarm and get my butt out of my warm, cozy bed and get it done. I definitely struggled with that today. So that's the little piece of strong I earned today. Let's see what happens tomorrow.
UPDATE: I have a handy-dandy little calculator at work that adds up time between two dates, which I didn't know I had for a long time and would actually count day by day on the calendar when calculating deadlines. Real efficient. Anyway, I put in the date for the Tough Mudder, and I have 138 days to get ready. That sounds like a lot sitting here, but really it's just a tad over 4 months. I'm gonna stick with 138 days because it sounds longer.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
So why do it?
I am not an athlete. I wasn't that girl in school who played every sport. I was the one hiding at the back of the line hoping I didn't get chosen to play or didn't come up in the batting order because I knew I'd screw up somehow. I'm the girl who got a concussion when my dad was trying to teach me to play catch in the backyard. (I blame him, actually, for not recognizing my innate inability to do all things athletic. Also, for sending me to bed after donking me on the head with a ball).
I was okay at tennis...that didn't seem to be too hard to screw up. And I was loud, so I was a cheerleader. But not the kind they have these days that flip all over the place and fly up in the sky. I was loud and smiley and that was enough back then.
Anyway, I got into running later in life. I'm not good at it. I'm not fast. I look to be in pain. But I like it. When I'm done, I like it. It makes me feel like an athlete. Like I'm strong. Like I'm doing something most people don't or can't. Even if I'm slow as an old lady with a walker.
So during a tough time in my life in '09, I decided to run a half marathon. And I wrote about my training from day 1 to the day of. And even if no one read it, it helped me stay motivated. And taught me a lot about myself.
So this past year has been even tougher. Divorce, cancer, and the recent loss of a very special relationship, in addition to the other stresses that we all have--money, job security, parenting challenges. I didn't want to just run this time. I wanted to do more. Something that I would have to be stronger to get through, to survive. Something that would prove to me that I could handle anything.
So the Tough Mudder. Allegedly the toughest obstacle course on earth. Complete with fire and electro-shock and walls to scale, ropes to climb. Probably alligators to wrestle and serial killers to run from. You get the picture. It's pretty much hell. But I'm going to do it. Training starts Monday. Race day is October 6th. I'm going to keep track of my progress and my challenges for my own benefit and for the entertainment of those who will certainly get a laugh out of this un-athletic girl's attempt to make a point. I even bought a pull-up bar. I can't even do the monkey bars at the park with my kid. I'm in for it, for sure. But I'm in, and that's the important part.
So here goes...I hope I don't die.
I was okay at tennis...that didn't seem to be too hard to screw up. And I was loud, so I was a cheerleader. But not the kind they have these days that flip all over the place and fly up in the sky. I was loud and smiley and that was enough back then.
Anyway, I got into running later in life. I'm not good at it. I'm not fast. I look to be in pain. But I like it. When I'm done, I like it. It makes me feel like an athlete. Like I'm strong. Like I'm doing something most people don't or can't. Even if I'm slow as an old lady with a walker.
So during a tough time in my life in '09, I decided to run a half marathon. And I wrote about my training from day 1 to the day of. And even if no one read it, it helped me stay motivated. And taught me a lot about myself.
So this past year has been even tougher. Divorce, cancer, and the recent loss of a very special relationship, in addition to the other stresses that we all have--money, job security, parenting challenges. I didn't want to just run this time. I wanted to do more. Something that I would have to be stronger to get through, to survive. Something that would prove to me that I could handle anything.
So the Tough Mudder. Allegedly the toughest obstacle course on earth. Complete with fire and electro-shock and walls to scale, ropes to climb. Probably alligators to wrestle and serial killers to run from. You get the picture. It's pretty much hell. But I'm going to do it. Training starts Monday. Race day is October 6th. I'm going to keep track of my progress and my challenges for my own benefit and for the entertainment of those who will certainly get a laugh out of this un-athletic girl's attempt to make a point. I even bought a pull-up bar. I can't even do the monkey bars at the park with my kid. I'm in for it, for sure. But I'm in, and that's the important part.
So here goes...I hope I don't die.
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