Day 158: A girl and her shoes...

"Mama always said there's an awful lot you can tell about a person by their shoes. Where they're going, where they've been. I've worn lots of shoes. I bet if I think about it real hard, I could remember my first pair of shoes. Mama said they'd take me anywhere. She said they was my magic shoes."--Forrest Gump. 

 I, like most girls, love shoes. Guys just don't get it. Maybe they have a pair of black shoes, brown shoes, perhaps a few pairs of athletic shoes, flip flops, and down here in Texas, cowboy boots. And they're done. 

I almost tried to guess at the number of shoes I own, but then I thought, "duh, go count 'em, moron." And I did. 71. I don't know if that's a lot relative to my other shoe-loving friends. I'm not Imelda Marcos, but I guess I'm pretty close to a Carrie Bradshaw (estimates have her at about 100 pairs) although I've never come anywhere close to spending what she did for a pair of Manolos or Jimmy Choos. No, I'm a Target girl, so while Carrie's shoes may have averaged in the $400/pair range, I'd say mine are closer to $30/pair.

Again, guys don't usually get it, but there's just something about a pair of shoes. I've got all kinds, lots of high, high heels that make me about 6 feet tall. And who doesn't like to feel 6 feet tall?? I actually feel odd in flats, maybe that's because my 11 year old daughter is creeping up to my height, and so when I hike up on top of a pair of 5 inch heels, I can pretend she's not growing up as fast as she is. 

So the Mudder...it's a crazy thing, this Mudder. Training is going well. I'm in a groove. All is good. But it still scares the snot outta me. It's gonna be hard. Harder than anything I've ever tried to do, including the half. That was just running and trying not to fall down, and I guess I didn't try hard enough since I did fall down. Even though my knee's not ready for the run, I knew I'd need a new pair of shoes to start training in, hopefully next month, because my last-year-Mudder shoes are pretty worn out. 

So because I have this unbelievably wide foot, I have to buy New Balance shoes, and I was playing on their website yesterday, looking for the latest version of the shoe I bought last year. And there they were. Like a work of art. A collection of happy colors that I would love to have on my wall if it was in a frame. Even better, though, then a painting...SHOES that look like they were made for me. 

I get they're not for everyone. They've been called "gaudy" and "U-G-L-Y" and have been compared to an acid trip. Even my daughter is not a fan. "Mom...really?" But that's the thing about shoes...you don't buy them for other people, do you? 

I couldn't find a more perfect pair of magic shoes for me. 

 Yes, I know they'll be destroyed at The Mudder. I imagine I will, too. I'll probably be wishing I could click them together three times and get back home at about the first obstacle. 

 But in this quest to get my orange headband, I have a heckuva long way to go. May as well get there wearing the most fabulous shoes I can find. After all, they'll take me anywhere.

Day 160: I like to smell bad...

I'm not French or anything.  I take baths or showers daily, use properly working deodorant and a splash of perfume or body spray on a regular basis.

I'm talking about smelling after a workout.  Not in a "you have such bad B.O. that I can't stand to be around you" kind of smell.  But I guess it's that thing Matthew McConaughey likes about himself.  Or maybe he's just weird, bongo playing in the front yard notwithstanding.  It's the smell of hard work.  Of pushing yourself beyond your limits.

Other things I really like:

I like it when my clothes are totally drenched with sweat. So much so that I have to peel them off, and everything from the rubber band keeping my sweaty hair out of my face and off of my shoulders down to the socks that at one time might have passed for white are still wet.

I like it when the towel I used during class is so soaked that I could wring it out.  I'd hate to be the folks who have to wash all the sweaty gym towels.  Ugh...that's for them.  I like my own sweaty smell, but not all the other hundreds of sweaty smells they must get stuck smelling everyday.

I like the creaky feel of muscles that just got worked, and will probably yell at me a little tomorrow, but that kinda sore is the really good kind, not the "fall down the stairs and bang yourself up" kind.  And I should know.  Because I've done that quite a bit, and it just hurts.

I like it when Channing Tatum shows up on time for my weekly massage.  Sometimes he's late, and you can't really blame him because he's famous and all but I like that he still makes the time.  Nice guy, good masseuse, and he can dance, too.

For all the ladies out there...

Yeah, well that last one is still in the "things that haven't quite materialized" category--I didn't actually get a massage from Channing today--but the other stuff, yeah, that's real.  I am smelly, my clothes were soaked when I peeled them off, and my muscles are creaky tonight.

And I like that.

Day 161: FORE!!!!

I recently took up golf.  Sort of.  Again.  Kind of.

I got roped into representing the company at a corporate golf tourney a few weeks back, and while I do own a set of golf clubs and a really cute bright yellow happy sunshiny golf bag, I can't really say that I knew much of anything about how to play.  Or really, why people play.  It seemed so lame.  A very "old man" thing to spend your weekend doing.  So I figured I'd just drive the cart and provide entertainment with my nonexistent golf skills.  And I was excited about the opportunity to wear a cute golf outfit.  But enjoy the game itself, no way.

Until I got out there with my work buddy who knew just about as much as I did but who was equally excited about shopping for a cute golf outfit.  Luckily, the organizers paired us with these two supercool dudes who were pretty close to our dads' ages and took it upon themselves to teach us how to play over the course of the afternoon.  We learned all sorts of new things, and we amassed an impressive new golf vocabulary by the 18th hole. I will share my new-found knowledge for the benefit of the other non-golfers out there.

It was a scramble (golf tourney term meaning they could pick the best person's shot to play from each time on each hole--so you get the best of the best), which was great for anytime we were anywhere near a water hazard (a big pondy thing designed to swallow all your golf balls), or really anytime I was called upon to use one of my woods (the golf clubs with the big funky heads that hit the ball the farthest, in theory at least).  But I held my own at chipping (those little shorter, choppier shots where you try to get the ball onto the green (the place with the flag and the the little hole where you want your ball to go) and putting, too (everyone knows this one--putt putt is universal).

I also learned all about the mulligan.  There was a bar called Mulligans but it apparently has a pretty specific golfy meaning.  I don't know why they can't just call it what it is--a do-over.  But I guess golf is kind of a snotty sport (sport?), and they want it to be as confusing as possible to nonplayers.  The tourney organizers gave us each 5 mulligans, and they proved pretty handy.  We let the boys use our mulligans, and with double-mulligans, we all scored pretty well in the end.

So, I'm giving myself a mulligan.  And I can do that, because I'm the keeper of the rules, and because I just worked my a$$ off.  I was up and doing P90X by 7 a.m. (despite being up till 1 the night before), and after completely burning out my arms and shoulders (typing hurts), and hit the the gym for 2 hours of leg-shredding spin class.  After the first hour, I was soaked to the bone and had drained my water bottle dry.  But I stayed on for another hour, and I did manage to walk--not fall--down the stairs after class.  So 3 hours of pretty intense stuff, if I do say so myself.

Sounds like I had a pretty awesome day, training wise, and it's only noon.  Why the need for a mulligan??Well...

I didn't work out at all on Friday, unless you count walking around the Crawfish Festival for a few hours last night.  (We did have to park outside of town a ways over some railroad tracks, so there was a bit of a hill involved).  I did stick to the diet, and I passed right by all the deep fried [insert whatever some crazy Texan thinks up to batter and drop into a vat of hot grease] and all the booze (still on the wagon--it's been almost 2 months, I think) and just ate the teeny tiny morsels of boiled crawfish meat that my buddy dug out for me (I offered him a nice deal--I buy the crawfish--you're in charge of peeling it all for me).  But I slept terribly Thursday night and couldn't get out of bed Friday morning.  And I knew I wouldn't get a workout in before the Crawfish Festival, so I was sad thinking about how much I'd miss the Killers, again.  :(

But I'm the one who made the deal, so I have to stick to it.

Well, if you look at the reason behind making the deal with myself, it was to encourage me to keep up the pace, not to get all lazy...and I didn't skip the workout because I didn't want to workout--I got about 4 hours of sleep and just couldn't open my eyes.  And then I wasn't choosing to sit on my butt and watch TV instead of working out--I had stuff to do.  It was Friday night for goodness sake!!

So I told myself if I busted a$$ on Saturday AND Sunday, I would make up for the Friday miss, and I could cash in my Mulligan.  I think that's more than fair--if you miss a day (where the goal is to work out at least 1 hour) and you triple your workout time the next day, a Mulligan would technically not even be necessary.

Indulge me for a sec....

So bogey (overshoot by 1) a Par 3 (a hole that should take 3 shots), but then birdie (undershoot by 1) the next hole, and you're back to Par (the number of shots you should have used on those holes per the dudes who designed the course).  Or even better, get an eagle on the next hole (2 shots under par)...based on the number of double and triple bogeys we got, I'm guessing those Eagles are tough to come by.  Anyway...

That's more like what I did...yesterday was a bogey...I owed myself an hour of workout time, but I missed it.  Today, I made it up by working out for 3 hours--I got an Eagle of a workout, so I actually finish with one surplus hour of workout time.

No do-over necessary.  I more than made up for my missed workout opportunity yesterday.  So I'm still on track to see The Killers.

(I can talk myself into or out of almost anything.  I guess law school was worth something...)

Alrighty then, off to wash the stench of a 3 hour workout off me and get ready for the rest of the day...Celtic festival with a bunch of Scottish folks, who, as I and everyone knows, invented the wonderful(ly frustrating) game of golf.  Maybe I can learn some more new words today...

Day 164: I didn't look good in that pirate eye patch anyway.

The Killers are one of my favorite bands.  They are here in concert on May 8th.  The last time they were here, 6 years ago maybe, I was the coolest stepmom EVER and surrendered my coveted ticket so my stepdaughter could take a friend instead of hang with boring old me at the concert.

BIG MISTAKE.  HUGE.  I thought they'd be coming back soon, but no, the Killers were noticeably absent from Houston's concert scene for the last half-decade plus.  With each new album release, I'd scan the concert sites, waiting, hoping, praying they'd be returning.  It's been a long, long time.

But they'll be here.  In two weeks.

And I don't have tickets.

They sold out so fast that I missed the first go-round, and now I have to wait to pay 4X face value on StubHub.  It's worth it, for sure, but one of my learned ticket broker tricks is to wait until the day of, when the sellers get nervous that they won't be able to make anything off their purchase (that's what they get for trying to gouge us, right??), and I can pick them up for much, much cheaper.  I got to sit in field level end zone tickets for a Cowboys game--preseason, I grant you--for $30 (Insert obligatory Cowboys jokes here), and I got FRONT ROW AISLE seats to the Lion King last summer for a song, all by waiting until the day of...

What in the world does this have to do with the Mudder, you ask?  I'm getting there.  Sheesh.

I kicked butt today.  I got up, did chest and back on P90X, which was 150 (girl) pushups and 180 pull-ups (with the bands, not the bar, but it's supposed to work the same muscles, so I'm counting it for something!!), among other things.  I also ate pretty darn close to perfectly (didn't eat or drink at thing at the Mexican food place where we sang karaoke tonight), and then I came home and did 30 minutes on my elliptical on the highest resistance level.

So yeah, a really good day.  And can we get a "hallelujah" that I didn't have to stick a needle in my eye today.  That woulda sucked.

I'm getting back in the groove, and I want to keep it up.  So I'm making a deal with myself.

I will only buy tickets to The Killers if I keep up this momentum for the next 14 days.  You know I'm serious if I put it in BOLD.

This could be my last chance in this decade to see them, based on their track record of concert stops in Houston.

I guess I'm on the honor system, but that's true of all of this training right?  I mean, I'm the only one who gets screwed if I lie to myself and y'all.

So my challenge begins, or I guess, challenge within a challenge...and every good challenge needs a theme song.  Since the Rocky song is taken, I'll have to pick something different.  One of my favorites, and it's certainly applicable here, This Is Your Life, by the Killers.

"You gotta be stronger than the story.  Don't let it blind you."

Sticking a needle in my eye might just have done that.  Glad I didn't have to follow through on that.

Day 165: Does furniture moving count as cardio?

Counting down to the Mudder--165 days from today...

A slow start for this Mudder-To-Be in her training...started this morning with the incessant beep-beep-beep of the alarm clock.  Set for 5:00 a.m.--plenty of time to get an hour in before work and not have to show up to the office stinky wearing workout clothes.  But you know, come to think of it, 5:30 would still be plenty of time to get an hour in before work and still have time to shower and wash my hair and get out the door.  Honestly though, 6:00 really is plenty of time.  I mean, my hair is fine.  It doesn't need to be washed today.  And I don't have any client meetings, which means I can wear jeans, which means I don't have to shave my legs.  Well, really, truly I could still get a good upper body workout in if I just get up at 6:30 and I can do cardio tonight.

"MOM...WE'RE GONNA BE LATE!!"

What time is it????  6:50???  How the heck did that happen???  It was just 5:00 a.m. 9 minutes ago.  Or a few 9 minutes agos.  Damn that snooze button.

Alrighty, so after my RA-RA inspirational bull$hit blog entry last night, I couldn't even manage to inspire myself to get out of my own frickin' bed.  What a great Tough Mudder Team Leader I've proven to be so far!!  ("Ya Fiyed" I hear The Donald say to Lazy, Couldn't-Get-Out-Of-Bed me).  I deserve it, Donald, I really do.

But...I did move some furniture at the office today.  A couch, a table, a few chairs.  That's something, right?  Um, and I walked up and down the stairs to get people water a few times.  Oh, and I technically walk around on my tiptoes in these 5 inch wedges I have on today, so that's a good calf workout at least.

Yeah, pathetic, I know.  I hope you udder Mudders did better than I did today.

TOMORROW MORNING I AM DOING P-90X.  I promise, pinkie swear, cross-my-heart and hope-to-die (which I will in the Mudder at this rate) stick-a-needle-in-my-eye (ouch) if-I-lie!!  This is my solemn vow--at least as solemn a vow as I can take without some official vow-taking professional to administer it to me.  So expect me to be whining tomorrow about how sore and broken down I am after reuniting with my good pal Tony Horton in the morning.

I really don't want to have to stick a needle in my eye tomorrow.

It's official...officially...again!!

I should already have that orange headband and the title of BadA$$ to go along with it, but it seems like, with so many things, life got in the way.

Well, to be fair, initially it was the knee.  I really was pretty immobile after I injured it, and then reinjured it trying to see if it was done being injured.  I mean, I wasn't wheelchair bound or anything, but running was out of the question, and even my standard go-to spin classes resulted in swelling and pain, and not just the kind people normally get from sitting on those hard bike seats in class.  I don't think I could have done the Mudder with my knee the way it was last fall.

But that was the excuse I needed to fall off the wagon with my killer workout routine...and when I fell, I fell hard.  I stopped doing just about everything.  Maybe a spin class every few weeks.  And I missed it--I did--but I didn't do much because I didn't want to make the stupid knee worse.

Fast forward to my doctor visit in January--surgery is recommended, but it is possible to keep training for the Mudder with a few adjustments.  Running:  probably not possible, at least not without a brace that weighs as much as a toddler and is about as comfortable as running with two 2x4s taped around your leg.

Add in the little experiment I conducted on a couple of online dating sites, and I completely lost focus.  That is a separate story entirely for a different audience on another blog.

Anyway, I got off track.  Fell off the wagon.  I told someone it wasn't just that I fell off...I got dragged behind the wagon for a few miles, hitting every bump and rock in the road until, bruised and bloody, I got up and decided I was ready to get back on.  But I'm starting from scratch again, and that sucks, but what can you do?  Another life lesson through Mudder Training--you may fall down, you may get banged up, but as long as you're breathing, you can get back up and try again.

So this is me, getting back up, and trying again.

Several little things led to the decision to spend the $140 to register again for the Mudder even with a bum knee.  Thankfully, none of them was heartbreak.  That sure was a bitch to get through.  No, the knee is the only part of me in pieces this year.

Part of it is finishing what I started last year, part of it is needing something to focus on, part of it is wanting to  do something most people never try to do....lots of great reasons exist to do it, but it seems that everyday lately we are reminded that life can change in the blink of an eye, and it's really time to go out and live life and not just survive it.  I may have quoted Crazy Mel from Braveheart before (it's a long blog...who can keep up??), but his "All men die.  Not all men really live," quote inspired me to run a half marathon a few years ago.  And it's just as applicable here.

Maybe your idea of living isn't sloshing through mud and running through fire and swimming through icy water and getting electrocuted within feet of the finish line of this crazy race called The Tough Mudder--I really was worried that I might die doing this race last year.

I know now that I won't.

Because I know the girl inside of me who I want to be is a BadA$$ who doesn't mind a little mud, a little fire, a little ice, and a little shock.  She's a girl who wants to challenge herself to be stronger than she ever though she could be.  A girl who doesn't listen when people tell her she can't do something.  A girl whose resolve doesn't waiver when people tell her she's crazy.

I want the orange headband.  Because to get it, I have to become that girl.

Alright, enough Ra-Ra inspirational bull$hit for one day...I'm doing this thing.  Who's with me??