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.

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.

Day 158: A girl and her shoes...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 160: I like to smell bad...

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

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

Other things I really like:

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

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

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

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

For all the ladies out there...

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

And I like that.

Day 161: FORE!!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Indulge me for a sec....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But they'll be here.  In two weeks.

And I don't have tickets.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 165: Does furniture moving count as cardio?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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