I haven't been able to sleep the last few nights. You know how when you lay down and everything that's in your head just won't quiet down and let you drift off to dreamland? The things that were bothersome during the day become more pronounced at night. And not pronounced like "both-ur-sum" but bigger and badder than they were in the daylight.
A girl can't run on a few hours of sleep a night, at least not this decaffeinated (since June 2004) girl. I thought maybe closing out the last chapter of my Mudder journey would get some of the words that were bumping into each other in my head out on paper, or virtual paper, and I could finally go to bed.
So here I am, at a few minutes to midnight, more than a week Post-Tough-Mudder. And what do I want to share?
Well, here are some tidbits, in no particular order:
1. It took a long time to wash the mud out of my hair. A really long time. I have really long hair.
2. Houston is hot. Hotter than any place on the planet that day. I'm certain of it.
3. Your calves are important. If they stop working, you're kind of screwed.
4. My manicure survived the mud. I have a great nail guy.
5. I already have a Tough Mudder sticker on my car, Tough Mudder tank tops in my dresser, and my signature bright orange Tough Mudder headband proudly displayed in my bedroom.
6. My bruises are finally fading.
7. There are some really tough people out there.
8. I have the best people in my life. Truly.
9. I only had to go to the ER once after the Mudder.
10. It was fun. Truly.
11. I liked crawling in the mud. I did not like trying to climb over walls.
12. I threw everything I wore that day away, and donated my shoes.
13. I can't wait to do it again.
Now, in more detail, I want to share a few more thoughts. First, anyone can do this. I mean it. It's long and tiring and parts of very hard, but really everyone is so supportive and encouraging, and you really can do what you can do. I skipped stuff, I didn't run a lot. I'm determined to train harder and do better in April, but I really do want anyone out there to know that it's fun, it's great fun, and I'm not saying that because I get a kick back for new Mudders that join the fold. It's true--you're only competing against yourself. And if you set a goal to survive, like I did, you most certainly will. If you set a goal to kick a$$, you'll do that, too, with the right training. The point is, it's not just for MMA fighters and military dudes and superfit athletes--anyone with the drive to keep going--and a team to give a hand up, or to help stretch out a calve cramp, or to pull you out of the muddy water so you don't keep getting stung by the electric wires hanging down in your face--can do it.
Next, doing this does not make you a bada$$. I finally realized that before we took off that morning. It was a challenge with mud and fire and electricity but no one's life depended on my finishing, or my time in doing so. It was for fun. No, there are plenty of real bada$$es out there who don't do what they do for fun, or for a sticker for the car, or for an orange headband. They do what they do because they feel a duty to protect us, to help us, to watch out for us. They risk everything. They leave their families and they go out and make our world safer, better. Not because anyone is telling them they must. But because they feel they must. And some don't come home. Too many don't come home.
At the beginning of our wave, this dude comes out and gets us all pumped up and excited about what we're about to do, and then he has us all take a knee while he gives a shout-out to all the military and law enforcement and first responders in the group and asks them to stand. And there were a bunch. (My very own Tough Mudder Partner is a firefighter, a pretty bada$$ one). And it's then, when you're looking around at the people standing, the people who do what needs to do be done not because of glory or recognition or cute muddy pictures to go on their Facebook page so their friends think they're bada$$es...they protect us and help us, and watch out for us, and they are the real bada$$es. And we are all so lucky that they are.
Finally, I'm not sure where that leaves me on my quest to be a bada$$. I finished, I got my headband, I'm going to train harder to do better next time. But that's all artificial in the end, right? It's just stuff and things. It doesn't matter. I watched The Help a couple of years ago and it made me want to leave the practice of law and do something better with my life, something that mattered. I did leave the practice, I do love my new job, but I still haven't found that thing I need to feel like a I'm doing good, I'm helping others, I'm contributing. Yeah, I'm aware that I can't go enlist in the military or join the local Volunteer Fire Dept. to earn my true bada$$ness, but I have to find some way to do it.
So keep your eye out for the next blog. Not about how hard it is to build a pull up bar, killing snakes in the closet, or generally survivingTough Mudder training or the adventures of a Carrie Bradshaw wanna-be on her quest to find her Mr. Big. This time we're digging deeper.
Until I come up with a new blog title, this is farewell. Thanks for hanging in there with me on the journey.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Day 4: Breathe in, breathe out...
So how pitiful am I? The last time I wrote anything on here was 151 days to the Mudder. And now it's 4 days away.
4 DAYS AWAY.
Not sure why I took a sabbatical from writing. I love writing. Maybe it allowed me to let the Mudder slip far back into my subconscious where I didn't have to think about it. And worry about dying and all.
I used to proudly tell people no one had ever died doing the Mudder, but tragically, the self-proclaimed "toughest obstacle course on the planet" claimed a life last year. http://www.runnersworld.com/general-interest/witnesses-report-slow-response-in-tough-mudder-death?page=single
It's the first death in the three years the Mudder has been around, and estimates are that there have been 750,000 participants in those events. The article above points out that marathons average one death per 100,000 participants.
So chances are good that I won't die. Better than good.
I confess I was on the fence about going through with it. Probably more than on the fence--you could say I had already climbed back over the fence, packed my bags and was headed home, but I have really great teammates who reminded me that we're in this thing together, and that's exactly how we'll get through it.
And I also did what I do when things seem overwhelming and scary: distracted myself with something fun. I find this works pretty well in all areas of life. Maybe it's not the most grown-up way to deal with stressful situations, but hey, whatever works, right?
So my Mudder Death Distraction came in the form of a pair of angel wings, a fluffy white tutu, and a halo. I picked up my angel costume to wear on The Day Of, and it's supercute. Sure, it won't stay white for long, and will most likely be shed not long after crossing the start line or fall victim to some terrible obstacle course barbed wire or pit of mud. Either way, it's easier for me to think about how cute we'll look in our pre-race pictures than how much grit it's going to take to make it to the finish line (which is on the other side of one of the most brutal obstacles: Electroshock Therapy.
I don't know what possesses most people to run through live wires, or jump into a container of ice cold water, or crawl under barbed wire through the mud, or run the 10 miles in between. I can say that most of the Mudders or Mudders-to-Be who I know are bada$$es, through and through. The kind of folks who can just wake up in the morning and decide to go do this thing, or even to go kill this thing.
Not the kind of person who worries and frets and whines via a blog for a year (actually more!) about the the possibility of dying facedown in The Mud.
So why?
It started out as a way to get through a really tough time. If I can run through fire, I can survive anything, right? That was the thinking anyway. I needed a bandage for a very broken heart, a guidebook for surviving in a new reality, and a distraction from all the voices in my head that constantly questioned how I'd make it.
Along the way, though, it changed into something much more.
I've never had to do anything hard, and aside from fairly recent events, have never had anything bad happen to me. I'm a lucky girl for that, but I've also never been called on to be tough, to prove my worth, to push beyond my limits, to show myself and everyone else what I'm made of. I've never had to. Life has bee pretty easy, mostly. Easy is relative, yes, but I have a loving family, a wonderful daughter, amazing friends, a good education, a job that I love. I've never had to work too hard for anything, and while I certainly appreciate that, I also feel like something's missing because the path has been easy.
I have said from the beginning that I want to be a bada$$. And I know some certified bada$$es who've earned that distinction for various reasons.
When I get home from Crossfit complaining about being sore, my kid asks "well, why then do you do it?"
Because I was the kid who quit everything when it got too hard who grew up to be that adult who quits everything when it gets too hard. I'm tired of being that kid.
So for me, the measure of BadA$$ness isn't that I make it up Everest on the first try (yeah, right!), but that I show up, and I finally follow through on a promise I made to myself over a year ago.
I get sappy a lot; folks who know me know that. And I have no trouble sharing the sap. Well, I caught up on my season premiers this weekend, and I was struck by something the wonderful writers of Grey's Anatomy said:
"We're all gonna die. We don't get much say over how, or when. But we do get to decide how we're gonna live. So do it. Decide. Is this the life you wanna live? Is this the person you wanna love? Is this the best you can be? Can you be stronger? Kinder? More compassionate? Decide. Breathe in. Breathe out. And decide."
So you just have to decide. To live the life you want, to be the person you want to be.
And I've decided.
See you on Saturday, Mudder.
4 DAYS AWAY.
Not sure why I took a sabbatical from writing. I love writing. Maybe it allowed me to let the Mudder slip far back into my subconscious where I didn't have to think about it. And worry about dying and all.
I used to proudly tell people no one had ever died doing the Mudder, but tragically, the self-proclaimed "toughest obstacle course on the planet" claimed a life last year. http://www.runnersworld.com/general-interest/witnesses-report-slow-response-in-tough-mudder-death?page=single
It's the first death in the three years the Mudder has been around, and estimates are that there have been 750,000 participants in those events. The article above points out that marathons average one death per 100,000 participants.
So chances are good that I won't die. Better than good.
I confess I was on the fence about going through with it. Probably more than on the fence--you could say I had already climbed back over the fence, packed my bags and was headed home, but I have really great teammates who reminded me that we're in this thing together, and that's exactly how we'll get through it.
And I also did what I do when things seem overwhelming and scary: distracted myself with something fun. I find this works pretty well in all areas of life. Maybe it's not the most grown-up way to deal with stressful situations, but hey, whatever works, right?
So my Mudder Death Distraction came in the form of a pair of angel wings, a fluffy white tutu, and a halo. I picked up my angel costume to wear on The Day Of, and it's supercute. Sure, it won't stay white for long, and will most likely be shed not long after crossing the start line or fall victim to some terrible obstacle course barbed wire or pit of mud. Either way, it's easier for me to think about how cute we'll look in our pre-race pictures than how much grit it's going to take to make it to the finish line (which is on the other side of one of the most brutal obstacles: Electroshock Therapy.
I don't know what possesses most people to run through live wires, or jump into a container of ice cold water, or crawl under barbed wire through the mud, or run the 10 miles in between. I can say that most of the Mudders or Mudders-to-Be who I know are bada$$es, through and through. The kind of folks who can just wake up in the morning and decide to go do this thing, or even to go kill this thing.
Not the kind of person who worries and frets and whines via a blog for a year (actually more!) about the the possibility of dying facedown in The Mud.
So why?
It started out as a way to get through a really tough time. If I can run through fire, I can survive anything, right? That was the thinking anyway. I needed a bandage for a very broken heart, a guidebook for surviving in a new reality, and a distraction from all the voices in my head that constantly questioned how I'd make it.
Along the way, though, it changed into something much more.
I've never had to do anything hard, and aside from fairly recent events, have never had anything bad happen to me. I'm a lucky girl for that, but I've also never been called on to be tough, to prove my worth, to push beyond my limits, to show myself and everyone else what I'm made of. I've never had to. Life has bee pretty easy, mostly. Easy is relative, yes, but I have a loving family, a wonderful daughter, amazing friends, a good education, a job that I love. I've never had to work too hard for anything, and while I certainly appreciate that, I also feel like something's missing because the path has been easy.
I have said from the beginning that I want to be a bada$$. And I know some certified bada$$es who've earned that distinction for various reasons.
When I get home from Crossfit complaining about being sore, my kid asks "well, why then do you do it?"
Because I was the kid who quit everything when it got too hard who grew up to be that adult who quits everything when it gets too hard. I'm tired of being that kid.So for me, the measure of BadA$$ness isn't that I make it up Everest on the first try (yeah, right!), but that I show up, and I finally follow through on a promise I made to myself over a year ago.
I get sappy a lot; folks who know me know that. And I have no trouble sharing the sap. Well, I caught up on my season premiers this weekend, and I was struck by something the wonderful writers of Grey's Anatomy said:
"We're all gonna die. We don't get much say over how, or when. But we do get to decide how we're gonna live. So do it. Decide. Is this the life you wanna live? Is this the person you wanna love? Is this the best you can be? Can you be stronger? Kinder? More compassionate? Decide. Breathe in. Breathe out. And decide."
So you just have to decide. To live the life you want, to be the person you want to be.
And I've decided.
See you on Saturday, Mudder.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Day 118--SQUIRREL!!!
Wow, where have I been? My last visit here was on Day 151. There's math involved in figuring out how many days I've been MIA, but luckily it's easy math, so I can hang. 33 days. Usually with a hiatus like that, one would assume I'd gone off the reservation big time, maybe sitting on my couch with a gallon of Blue Bell, had nothing good to report and was actually hiding from you.
This time, though, I have nothing but good stuff to share. It's just that there have been a lot of things keeping me from jumping on here and blathering on about my journey to Mudder Bad A$$ness.
I hit a plateau in my eating--was being careful, still no booze, working out--but the scale was not moving. I was getting pretty frustrated. Then about 3 weeks ago, I started on an all-protein diet. No, it's not Adkins. I'm not eating bacon and big hunks of cheese all day every day. It's just lean protein with a scant amount of carbs, and it was tough for about the first 4 days. I swear I thought I'd never be able to eat chicken again on that 4th day in. But 3 weeks and 17 lbs later, I feel really good. Tons of energy. Zero cravings for carbs. I have been in very dangerous food situations and have not even felt tempted to cheat. It doesn't even take willpower anymore. You get the chemistry right, and your body does what it needs to do.
In the first couple weeks on the plan, I wasn't working out too much, just trying to get used to the new diet. Now I'm back in the groove with my spin classes, cardio at home, P90x and a specially designed Bad A$$ workout plan complete with Burpees and Manmakers which sucks eggs big time but I'm managing. And the knee is behaving itself.
Things are going so well, in fact, that I'm convinced I'll get hit by a bus soon. So if I don't check in for another 33 days, I might be in the hospital in a body cast. Please come looking for me.
This time, though, I have nothing but good stuff to share. It's just that there have been a lot of things keeping me from jumping on here and blathering on about my journey to Mudder Bad A$$ness.
I hit a plateau in my eating--was being careful, still no booze, working out--but the scale was not moving. I was getting pretty frustrated. Then about 3 weeks ago, I started on an all-protein diet. No, it's not Adkins. I'm not eating bacon and big hunks of cheese all day every day. It's just lean protein with a scant amount of carbs, and it was tough for about the first 4 days. I swear I thought I'd never be able to eat chicken again on that 4th day in. But 3 weeks and 17 lbs later, I feel really good. Tons of energy. Zero cravings for carbs. I have been in very dangerous food situations and have not even felt tempted to cheat. It doesn't even take willpower anymore. You get the chemistry right, and your body does what it needs to do.
In the first couple weeks on the plan, I wasn't working out too much, just trying to get used to the new diet. Now I'm back in the groove with my spin classes, cardio at home, P90x and a specially designed Bad A$$ workout plan complete with Burpees and Manmakers which sucks eggs big time but I'm managing. And the knee is behaving itself.
Things are going so well, in fact, that I'm convinced I'll get hit by a bus soon. So if I don't check in for another 33 days, I might be in the hospital in a body cast. Please come looking for me.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Day 151: Karma is a b!tch
Um, yeah, so remember that little deal I made with myself about the Killers--that I had to workout like a crazy bada$$ chick every stinking day between two weeks ago and tomorrow, the concert date, or I wouldn't let myself go?
And remember how I missed a day, and then I worked out a ton the next two days, and I went back on my own word to my own self?
And I don't think I posted since then, but it happened again--I missed a workout for no good reason at all last Thursday. I was home with a sick kid. She didn't need 24-7 monitoring or a blood transfusion, so I arguably could have worked out for 10 hours that day instead of none hours. Which is what I worked out that day: none hours.
Okay, well, Friday morning I had come to terms with the fact that my missed workout was going to prevent me from going to see one of my favorite bands, and I was sad. I was mad at my dumb self. I was disappointed.
And then one of my friends called with an amazing, unbelievable, incredible, did I say unbelievable surprise: he had a hook up for tickets to the concert that came with VIP passes, which would get us BACKSTAGE TO MEET THE BAND.
I almost wet my pants, I was so excited.
I got all silly and giggly and couldn't really concentrate the rest of the day.
And all my resolve about sticking to my promise to myself went out the window--I was going to get to MEET THE BAND!!!
So the countdown began, and I have worked out every day since then--only missed two days in the two week period, and did make up for the time lost, but I guess it wasn't enough to correct the wrong I'd set in motion in the universe.
Because I heard from my friend yesterday, the one with the amazing, unbelievable, incredible, and unbelievable surprise that his contact turned out to only have 2 tickets/passes, which meant I was SOL for meeting the band.
Disappointing, for sure. But hey, I had intended on picking up tickets at the last minute anyway, so I would just hop on to StubHub and pick some up, no problem.
Or so I thought...no, the tickets are astronomically high, too high for my blood.
So, no Killers for me.
The universe found a way to make sure I kept my promise to myself.
Stupid universe.
Stupid me for not working out every day.
I guess that's what I should do tomorrow night as further reinforcement that I can't slack, not even on one of the 151 days between now and the Mudder because when I do, bad things happen.
Maybe I'll work out to the Killers to drive that nail in a little deeper.
Don't mess with Karma, man. She'll get you every single time.
And remember how I missed a day, and then I worked out a ton the next two days, and I went back on my own word to my own self?
And I don't think I posted since then, but it happened again--I missed a workout for no good reason at all last Thursday. I was home with a sick kid. She didn't need 24-7 monitoring or a blood transfusion, so I arguably could have worked out for 10 hours that day instead of none hours. Which is what I worked out that day: none hours.
Okay, well, Friday morning I had come to terms with the fact that my missed workout was going to prevent me from going to see one of my favorite bands, and I was sad. I was mad at my dumb self. I was disappointed.
And then one of my friends called with an amazing, unbelievable, incredible, did I say unbelievable surprise: he had a hook up for tickets to the concert that came with VIP passes, which would get us BACKSTAGE TO MEET THE BAND.
I almost wet my pants, I was so excited.
I got all silly and giggly and couldn't really concentrate the rest of the day.
And all my resolve about sticking to my promise to myself went out the window--I was going to get to MEET THE BAND!!!
So the countdown began, and I have worked out every day since then--only missed two days in the two week period, and did make up for the time lost, but I guess it wasn't enough to correct the wrong I'd set in motion in the universe.
Because I heard from my friend yesterday, the one with the amazing, unbelievable, incredible, and unbelievable surprise that his contact turned out to only have 2 tickets/passes, which meant I was SOL for meeting the band.
Disappointing, for sure. But hey, I had intended on picking up tickets at the last minute anyway, so I would just hop on to StubHub and pick some up, no problem.
Or so I thought...no, the tickets are astronomically high, too high for my blood.
So, no Killers for me.
The universe found a way to make sure I kept my promise to myself.
Stupid universe.
Stupid me for not working out every day.
I guess that's what I should do tomorrow night as further reinforcement that I can't slack, not even on one of the 151 days between now and the Mudder because when I do, bad things happen.
Maybe I'll work out to the Killers to drive that nail in a little deeper.
Don't mess with Karma, man. She'll get you every single time.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
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.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
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.
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.
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 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... |
And I like that.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
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...
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...
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, April 22, 2013
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??
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??
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Day 3: I am a rock. (I am an island).
If you remember that song, you're officially old. To my credit. I remembered the song, but not who sang it (Simon and Garfunkel), so maybe I can still pass myself off as not old. As I was typing "I am a rock," I heard "I am an eye-eye-eye-eye-land" in my head. I knew it had to be one of those old folksy 70s bands; just couldn't place which one. For those too young, too cool, or both to know what song I'm referencing, here's a handy dandy link for your convenience. I AM A ROCK
Back to why I am a rock, not necessarily an eye-eye-eye-eye-land...it was the first test of my "no crap food, no booze" pledge. I went out for Mexican at one of my favorite local dives and am happy and proud to report that not one chip did I eat, not one sip of margarita did I have. I ordered tacos al carbon and ate the meat out of them, left the tortillas all lonely, unfilled, and uneaten on the plate. That probably doesn't happen much to tortillas. At least now that folks aren't really into Adkins and South Beach anymore. I remember going out for Tex-Mex with a couple of coworkers who both ordered cheese enchiladas while on Adkins. They pried open the gooey tortilla, scooped out all the cheesy guts, and that was all they ate for lunch. Cheesy enchilada guts. In what world is that healthy, I ask you? But anyway, my tortillas stayed right there on the plate, and all the chips stayed in the basket, and all the margarita stayed in the glass. Well, not all of it, but it didn't end up in my tummy.
AND when I got home, I almost threw on my jammies and settled in for a nice evening of reality TV and Pinterest browsing, but instead, I donned my exercise stuff and headed up to my workout room for some Helliptical time. Which, by the way, was horribly boring. But I did it. So yesterday, a victory in all ways. Go Me!!!
Now, this morning, when I rolled over to shut off the alarm, I noticed that all of the upper body parts I have were sore. P90X is designed to work different parts of you on different days, not all the upper body crammed next to each other. So because I can't do the plyo days (jumping is out) or the lower body days (no lunges for me), or KenpoX (kick boxing has too much pivoting) and because I HATE YOGA, I decided today would be my P90X rest day, and I'd hit upper body again tomorrow. Tonight is more Helliptical. I bet you can hear how thrilled I am at having to do that again tonight. But I can't make spin class, so the Helliptical is my only option. I'm gonna have to get a spin bike for home or find a way to love the Helliptical and Dreadmill, or this is gonna be a long 261 days, folks!
I hope whatever your New Year's Resolutions may be that you can sing to yourself the "I am a rock, I am an eye-eye-eye-eye-land" song today!! Or a cooler version of a song about being a rock. Share if you know any. I know songs about wanting to rock, knowing how to rock, loving rock, I like the movie "The Rock" and I like the wrestler dude "The Rock" but being a rock...that's the only one I could come up with.
Back to why I am a rock, not necessarily an eye-eye-eye-eye-land...it was the first test of my "no crap food, no booze" pledge. I went out for Mexican at one of my favorite local dives and am happy and proud to report that not one chip did I eat, not one sip of margarita did I have. I ordered tacos al carbon and ate the meat out of them, left the tortillas all lonely, unfilled, and uneaten on the plate. That probably doesn't happen much to tortillas. At least now that folks aren't really into Adkins and South Beach anymore. I remember going out for Tex-Mex with a couple of coworkers who both ordered cheese enchiladas while on Adkins. They pried open the gooey tortilla, scooped out all the cheesy guts, and that was all they ate for lunch. Cheesy enchilada guts. In what world is that healthy, I ask you? But anyway, my tortillas stayed right there on the plate, and all the chips stayed in the basket, and all the margarita stayed in the glass. Well, not all of it, but it didn't end up in my tummy.
AND when I got home, I almost threw on my jammies and settled in for a nice evening of reality TV and Pinterest browsing, but instead, I donned my exercise stuff and headed up to my workout room for some Helliptical time. Which, by the way, was horribly boring. But I did it. So yesterday, a victory in all ways. Go Me!!!
Now, this morning, when I rolled over to shut off the alarm, I noticed that all of the upper body parts I have were sore. P90X is designed to work different parts of you on different days, not all the upper body crammed next to each other. So because I can't do the plyo days (jumping is out) or the lower body days (no lunges for me), or KenpoX (kick boxing has too much pivoting) and because I HATE YOGA, I decided today would be my P90X rest day, and I'd hit upper body again tomorrow. Tonight is more Helliptical. I bet you can hear how thrilled I am at having to do that again tonight. But I can't make spin class, so the Helliptical is my only option. I'm gonna have to get a spin bike for home or find a way to love the Helliptical and Dreadmill, or this is gonna be a long 261 days, folks!
I hope whatever your New Year's Resolutions may be that you can sing to yourself the "I am a rock, I am an eye-eye-eye-eye-land" song today!! Or a cooler version of a song about being a rock. Share if you know any. I know songs about wanting to rock, knowing how to rock, loving rock, I like the movie "The Rock" and I like the wrestler dude "The Rock" but being a rock...that's the only one I could come up with.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Day 2: if you need a workout buddy, I do not recommend cats
Day 2 of :Mudder, Take 2" training going well...yesterday P90X + killer spin class = day 1 goal met. So that's 1 down, 262 days to go.
Oh, also, I have turned down yummy Mexican food and booze twice this week already. And it's only Wednesday!! I should get major snaps for that. I have pledged that I'm not going to drink or eat crap during training. Of course, that was before I did the handy-dandy little app that calculates how many days are between today and the Mudder. 262.5 days is a looooooooooooong time to be on the "no booze or crap food" wagon. The only other time I've gone that long without a margarita was when I was pregnant with my daughter. The good thing is that I'm not a person who likes the taste of wine or beer, so it's really the fruity (loaded with sugar/empty calories) mixed drinks that I like, and I don't make one of those after a long day at the office, just when I'm out with my girls. Knowing that I was able to stay away from them for 9 months once before tells me I have what it takes to do it again. So, friends, snatch me up as your all-time designated driver--I am officially as dry as Yoakum County, Texas. (PS, why would anyone want to live in a place where you couldn't buy a margarita???? Thanks to Google, I can tell you there are 22 such counties in our great State!).
It's all water, all the time, for this Mudder-to-Be. That's all I drink anyway. That and booze. And I used to drink ChickFilA lemonade on occasion, but I haven't had one of those in months. I tried to make some with my lemons that grew on my lime tree last month, but I had to add so much sugar to make it drink-able that I decided I'd leave the fresh lemonade making to others. So anyway, now it's just water.
P90X this morning was a good one. I like Shoulders and Arms day...it gets results quick. I remember when I was religiously doing it the last go 'round, I'd get sidetracked at work by my biceps. I liked watching them flex. Weird, right? Well, still, I'm excited to get them all ripped looking. Even though it's 30 degrees this week in Houston, sleeveless top weather is right around the corner, and this year, my arms are gonna be ready.
The only challenge this morning was my cat, Joey. He decided to sneak out last night when we let the dogs out for their bedtime potty break, and I couldn't find him when my own bedtime rolled around. So he got to sleep outside. Let me tell you, Joey likes camping just about as much as I do, and was waiting for me this morning when I let the puppies out again. He is an odd cat, loves me to death but apparently hates everyone else. He has to be sitting or laying on me whenever I'm still, and when I'm not, has to be trying to jump up on me somehow. This morning, he was leaping off the bed at me while I was doing shoulder presses. He almost got clocked in the head with a dumbbell. He then changed his plan of attack, and started winding around my feet and standing on his back legs to try and paw his way up into my P90X-ing arms. Not helpful, so Joey got banished from the bedroom.
Tonight will be a home-cardio night. No spin classes on Wednesday, and I can't go back to my favorite dancey class because it was responsible for my probably meniscus tear in the first place. So elliptical in the home gym is on tap. The challenge will be not stopping after 5 minutes when I get bored. It's not as bad as the dreaded treadmill (the "dreadmill??" hahah!!), but it's too easy to stop and go do something else. I have to constantly remind myself to keep going. No, watching TV doesn't help. Listening to music does a bit. But still...I'm not a huge fan. But I am NOT going to break my streak on Day 2, so an hour on the Helliptical it is.
Speaking of cats sucking as workout buddies, I'm not hearing from my non-feline Mudder team members...roll call people! Are you IN??? ;)
Oh, also, I have turned down yummy Mexican food and booze twice this week already. And it's only Wednesday!! I should get major snaps for that. I have pledged that I'm not going to drink or eat crap during training. Of course, that was before I did the handy-dandy little app that calculates how many days are between today and the Mudder. 262.5 days is a looooooooooooong time to be on the "no booze or crap food" wagon. The only other time I've gone that long without a margarita was when I was pregnant with my daughter. The good thing is that I'm not a person who likes the taste of wine or beer, so it's really the fruity (loaded with sugar/empty calories) mixed drinks that I like, and I don't make one of those after a long day at the office, just when I'm out with my girls. Knowing that I was able to stay away from them for 9 months once before tells me I have what it takes to do it again. So, friends, snatch me up as your all-time designated driver--I am officially as dry as Yoakum County, Texas. (PS, why would anyone want to live in a place where you couldn't buy a margarita???? Thanks to Google, I can tell you there are 22 such counties in our great State!).
It's all water, all the time, for this Mudder-to-Be. That's all I drink anyway. That and booze. And I used to drink ChickFilA lemonade on occasion, but I haven't had one of those in months. I tried to make some with my lemons that grew on my lime tree last month, but I had to add so much sugar to make it drink-able that I decided I'd leave the fresh lemonade making to others. So anyway, now it's just water.
P90X this morning was a good one. I like Shoulders and Arms day...it gets results quick. I remember when I was religiously doing it the last go 'round, I'd get sidetracked at work by my biceps. I liked watching them flex. Weird, right? Well, still, I'm excited to get them all ripped looking. Even though it's 30 degrees this week in Houston, sleeveless top weather is right around the corner, and this year, my arms are gonna be ready.
The only challenge this morning was my cat, Joey. He decided to sneak out last night when we let the dogs out for their bedtime potty break, and I couldn't find him when my own bedtime rolled around. So he got to sleep outside. Let me tell you, Joey likes camping just about as much as I do, and was waiting for me this morning when I let the puppies out again. He is an odd cat, loves me to death but apparently hates everyone else. He has to be sitting or laying on me whenever I'm still, and when I'm not, has to be trying to jump up on me somehow. This morning, he was leaping off the bed at me while I was doing shoulder presses. He almost got clocked in the head with a dumbbell. He then changed his plan of attack, and started winding around my feet and standing on his back legs to try and paw his way up into my P90X-ing arms. Not helpful, so Joey got banished from the bedroom.
Tonight will be a home-cardio night. No spin classes on Wednesday, and I can't go back to my favorite dancey class because it was responsible for my probably meniscus tear in the first place. So elliptical in the home gym is on tap. The challenge will be not stopping after 5 minutes when I get bored. It's not as bad as the dreaded treadmill (the "dreadmill??" hahah!!), but it's too easy to stop and go do something else. I have to constantly remind myself to keep going. No, watching TV doesn't help. Listening to music does a bit. But still...I'm not a huge fan. But I am NOT going to break my streak on Day 2, so an hour on the Helliptical it is.
Speaking of cats sucking as workout buddies, I'm not hearing from my non-feline Mudder team members...roll call people! Are you IN??? ;)
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Day 1, take 2: I've missed you Tony! Uh, not really.
As promised, it's January, and I'm back for round 2 of Tough Mudder training. I toyed with changing the name of the blog to something less whiney-baby and more bada$$, but truthfully, based on this morning's performance at P90x, I literally might die during the Tough Mudder. I've got a long way to go--again--folks!!
This was the first time back at P90x since The Great Knee Injury of August 2012, and because of The Great Knee Injury of August 2012, I will be modifying Tony's suggested regimen a bit--no plyometrics, no lunges, no squats. Today was chest and back, aka, every-kind-of-push-up-and-pull-up-known-to-man. And to refresh my and everyone else's memory, when I stopped P90x because of The Great Knee Injury of August 2012, I was up to 15 standard push-ups in a row and could even do a couple of Tony's more crazy offerings (one-handed push-ups, those crazy flying push-ups). Not well, but I could do them.
Today, well, no. I did 4 standard push-ups before hitting my knees, where I stayed for all push-ups in today's class. Doesn't take long to lose that muscle, huh? But hey, I have 9 months. I am shooting for Mega Bad-A$$ Queen of All Push-Ups by the time the Mudder rolls around.
Okay, workout plan to get ready for this nightmare of a race is as follows:
--first 90 days--P90x in the a.m., cardio at the gym in the p.m., one run a week
--second 90 days--CrossFit, cardio at the gym, add distance to get up to 15 miles in the runs
--third 90 days--a little bit of everything and TRY NOT TO GET HURT
This time around, I have a few more folks who are willing to get muddy with me. We're gonna have fun, y'all, and I promise, we won't die!! Well, no one ever has before, so that's about as good a guarantee as I can give ya! ;)
Here we go...
This was the first time back at P90x since The Great Knee Injury of August 2012, and because of The Great Knee Injury of August 2012, I will be modifying Tony's suggested regimen a bit--no plyometrics, no lunges, no squats. Today was chest and back, aka, every-kind-of-push-up-and-pull-up-known-to-man. And to refresh my and everyone else's memory, when I stopped P90x because of The Great Knee Injury of August 2012, I was up to 15 standard push-ups in a row and could even do a couple of Tony's more crazy offerings (one-handed push-ups, those crazy flying push-ups). Not well, but I could do them.
Today, well, no. I did 4 standard push-ups before hitting my knees, where I stayed for all push-ups in today's class. Doesn't take long to lose that muscle, huh? But hey, I have 9 months. I am shooting for Mega Bad-A$$ Queen of All Push-Ups by the time the Mudder rolls around.
Okay, workout plan to get ready for this nightmare of a race is as follows:
--first 90 days--P90x in the a.m., cardio at the gym in the p.m., one run a week
--second 90 days--CrossFit, cardio at the gym, add distance to get up to 15 miles in the runs
--third 90 days--a little bit of everything and TRY NOT TO GET HURT
This time around, I have a few more folks who are willing to get muddy with me. We're gonna have fun, y'all, and I promise, we won't die!! Well, no one ever has before, so that's about as good a guarantee as I can give ya! ;)
Here we go...
Thursday, October 11, 2012
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!!
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.
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!!
Sunday, September 23, 2012
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.
I haven't made it back to the gym since.
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.
Oh, by the way, if anyone's looking for a goal for the new year, join me. I promise you won't die.
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.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
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.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
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.
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?
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.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
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.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, July 30, 2012
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.
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