Girl Crush

Today was the first day in a looooong ass time that I worked out without the marathon looming over me.  I trained simply to train; sweat just to sweat; killed it because I still kick ass.  I blasted through Fire 30 and Burn Circuit 1 and have plans to run through some QiDANCE practice before the ever-energetic babe wakes from his nap.  I am officially declaring this week Workout Because I Love It Week.  Not very catchy, but deal with it. 

Post TurboFire...actual sweat, actual abs.

I was so focused on the race that I think I lost a teeny bit of my bounce.  Now, I lovelovelove running and I lovelovelove having a day that's all about being proud of me.  But I also harbor some deep feelings for Chalene and the way she makes me sweat.  Maybe Throwback Week would be better.  Because every time I press play for TurboFire, I can't help but be reminded of that long ago first workout when I thought I just might die before I finished (and upon finishing, when I realized I couldn't wait to do it again).  THIS is the program that made me fall in love with training again.  THIS is the program I gush about, and have gushed about even before I became a Beachbody Coach.  Because THIS is the program that stole my baby weight and readied me for my first half marathon (even before I was challenged to run it).  THIS is the program that restored my confidence in my body and took it to higher levels of fitness than any I'd reached before.  THIS is the program that made me believe I could tackle any class, any event, any challenge.  THIS is the program that helped me reclaim me.

See, there's this strange thing that happens postpartum.  Your focus shifts, as it ought, to the precious and beautiful babe who needs all things from you.  It's an overwhelming force, this whole Mom thing, and one that can swallow you whole if you allow it.  I had reached that point - that constantly tired, constantly distracted, constantly waiting for my cue - that I had reached twice before with my older lovelies.  I avoided spending too much time in front of the mirror (which should have aroused my concern for myself much sooner) and favored stretch pants and long sweatshirts over skinny jeans and fitted tops.  Luckily, there came that bright shining moment when I was just done with it.  I could continue to be a whining mass of blob-ness, complaining about my shape and exhaustion, depressed over choosing clothes every day...or I could change.  Change sounded much more fun.

And for once, my unwavering belief in all things infomercial worked in my favor.  I am not (totally) ashamed to admit that I am a sucker for advertising, especially when put forth in such a "newsy" and "factual" manner.  And TurboFire appealed to everything I'm a sucker for: lose weight fast, look pretty, and as an end result, be kind of bad ass.  I HAD TO HAVE IT.

And thus began my love affair with Chalene.  I dropped ten pounds and two sizes in my first round of TurboFire.  I remember my once-fitted yoga pants sliding off mid-tuck jump.  I nearly cried that day, I was so freakin' proud of myself.  The funny part was, my goals had already changed.  I had signed up for that half marathon and was already contemplating mud races.  I wanted muscles.  I wanted to do pushups on my toes.  I had to order ChaLEAN Extreme. 

And that worked too.  I found biceps, triceps, and an actual ass.  Turned out I was stronger than I ever believed possible.  I became even more kickass.  So I bought Push, Chalene's NY Times bestselling life coaching book.  I learned not only how to set goals, I learned exactly how to attain them.  My three main goals for this year are already done; it's only MAY.  So I have to pick new ones.

There's always a catalyst, an inspiration any time you change your life.  I can honestly say that an infomercial was my catalyst, and a woman I have never met was (and continues to be) my inspiration.  The thing I find happening more often, though, is this: I am my own catalyst and my own inspiration.  When I wake up every day, I am the one pulling on my sneakers and shrugging into sportsbras.  I am the one scheduling sweat time into my day.  I press play and I throw myself into every workout. 

So, if I can do it...it kind of makes you think, doesn't it...?

I Ran for the Red

Hey, did you know I've been training for a marathon? I know I haven't talked about it much, but I've done some training here and there over the past few months...

Yay!

So, Saturday was the much anticipated expo and packet pickup day.  After browsing the expos at the Rock N Roll Half and VIA, I was all set to stock up on Gu and possibly a new headband or tshirt with a catchy slogan (previous purchases include "will run for margaritas" and "will run for beer." I have a theme.).  Alas, twas not to be.  Apparently, Run for the Red is but a teeny blip on the expo radar and not a drop of Gu could be found.  I did leave, however, with a brand spanking new tech shirt (free) and a bag full of tourism brochures for Stroudsburg.  Oh - and two (count 'em!) notepads from the state representative.  On to my runner's haven, Aardvark!

Aardvark Sports Shop is my absolute fave place to shop for running gear.  Runners work there and actually know what they're talking about as they fit you for shoes and answer your questions.  (Unlike walking into Lady Foot Locker and explaining I was in need of new running shoes, whereupon I was led to the "prettiest pair.")  I grabbed my Gu, some Chomps, and chatted with the cashier who had already run Run for the Red and was running it again the next day.  She warned me not to go all out in the beginning on the downhill because there'd be plenty of uphill at the end.  I soaked it all in (and promptly forgot it once the race started, but we'll get to that in a bit), grabbed my stash, and headed home to ready the house for the post-race celebration.

Race day! It was actually race day!  Up at 5 am (actually before, because I was excited/nervous/in need of bladder emptying) to get myself and the M&M Clan out the door by 6:30 am.  Being the organized gal that I am, everything had been laid out the night before, so we nearly got out the door on time.  (I never fully expect us to leave when we plan to; this is why we usually give ourselves a 30-minute "oh my God we have four kids" window.)  I forced down some oatmeal and green tea and packed a cooler of snacks for the rest of the Clan and a bag of gear for myself.  Off we went, some of us jittery and others sleepy.

Our course of action was a drop off and immediate departure for the fam, with nary a monkey foot leaving the van.  I geared up, posed for pictures, stole last-minute hugs and kisses and waved good-bye as they chugged on to the first spectator spot.  Suddenly, I was alone with 30 minutes to spare...I had to pee.

Luckily, the crowd at the starting line was minimal.  This was not the chaos I was used to from previous races, but that suited me just fine.  I was able to use the portapotties TWICE before I meandered over to the starting line just behind the 4:40 pace group.  I was feeling spry and thought I would at least start out with a faster group.  To help me chillax, I listened to the Fab Four until start time and marvelled at the wide range of runners.

Two things that continuously amaze me are the diversity and the community of runners.  You may picture marathon runners as incredibly sinewy and lean, and some of them are.  But they (WE!) are a much more diverse group than most would imagine.  There was not a "type" anywhere yesterday...Cultures, races, shapes, sizes, levels of fitness - everyone was represented.  And everyone was accepted with enthusiasm.  Runners are one of the most welcoming and enthusiastic groups I have ever seen.  When we find each other, we are like dogs spotting other dogs.  I swear, I may have even waggled my rear at times.  Because no one other than a fellow runner will truly understand what it means and why we're NOT crazy to do what we do.  Also, we want to convert everyone we meet.  If we could only pause long enough in our weekend runs to knock on a few doors, we'd be eerily similar to certain religious sects.

So it was a good feeling there at the starting line.  There is always the jumbled mess at the beginning when everyone is fresh, but by mile two we began to separate.  I kept in pace with the 4:40 crowd and began taking my intervals somewhere between miles 2 and 3.  The first hour went by as it always does, in a haze of settling in to my stride and my breathing and gaining control of my thoughts (today they went something along the lines of "Holy FUCK! What did I sign up for?!?).  I always find my strength and my zen around the second hour and this day was no different.  I turned up my volume (one luxury of racing: you don't have to listen for vehicles) and zoned out, forgetting the other runners and focusing instead on me. 

That's a lie.  I didn't eliminate them from my thoughts.  That 4:40 pace sign was taunting me endlessly, bobbing up and down in its irritating, singsongy way.  I pushed harder.  I totally forgot the advice of Wise Aardvark Lady and took full advantage of the downhill and the shade and the slight coolness of the morning.  That's a partial lie, too.  I didn't forget; I ignored.  This led to a sweaty stripping down while I made use of PortaPotty stop 2.  Which in turn led to me falling far behind the pace group and pushing even harder to catch up and PASS them.  I felt fantastic.

By the time I saw the Clan at the first spectator spot, right around mile 9, I was fully in my stride.  I untied my excess clothing from my fuel belt and threw it at them as they cheered me on.  I was on pace to not only make my goal of five hours, but to come in significantly sooner.  I had no time to stop (though I did end up pausing for a kiss).  Once again, I fell into zen mode, rousing out every 30 to 45 minutes to fuel up with Gu and water.  I passed the halfway point fourteen minutes under my previous half marathon time and ran faster.  Another reunion with fam at mile 16 perked me up again...and then came the heat.

Runners began dropping like flies.  People I hadn't seen since the starting line were suddenly on the side of the road clutching bellies, removing shoes, and opting for the ambulance ride.  I saw runners falling and admitting defeat at every mile.  This was not something I had expected.  And it made the mental portion of the race that much more difficult.  Because when everyone around you is quitting, it makes quitting seem like an okay thing to do.  Even if your body is willing to keep going. 

My legs felt strong.  My cardio was on target.  But that heat...that heat.  I had not trained in heat.  I trained all winter long in layers, and in the spring when the mornings stayed cool.  Technically, it's still spring.  But yesterday felt like the dog days of summer, especially with 18 miles logged.  At points I felt viciously jealous of those caving to the sun and the road; they were done.  I was barely trudging along, focusing entirely on my "one more minute" strategy to get me through each interval.  I shifted from counting singular miles to grouping them by fives, when I knew they would be posting on Facebook for all to see.  People would know if I stopped; people would know if I failed.  I would know.  My new mantras included "failure is NOT an option" and "failure is not in my vocabulary."  Not original or thought provoking, but they worked.  I plugged on, letting my arms drop.

But that HEAT.  It was unbearable.  I pictured blue waters, cool swimming pools, even my ice bath.  I longed for my ice bath.  I grew irritable that the water stations had no cold offerings.  I didn't want  warm Gatorade!  I wanted ICE COLD WATER.  It was my only clear thought.  And then...

The heavens parted.  A choir of angels began to sing.  And if I'd had a tear to shed, I would have cried.  I saw the most beautiful handwritten sign on the side of a cooler I had ever seen: "ICE."  I dove in with two hands, splashing one clump into an outstretched cup of water and sending the rest into the front of my sports bra.  Relief.  From that point on, we were strictly in residential areas and apparently, the most wonderful people on the face of the planet live right on the Run for the Red route.  They sprayed us down with icy garden hoses, offered us plastic cups full of ice and cool water, all the while cheering us on.  I opened my arms wide and blessed their dear, sweet little souls.  Children squirted us with water guns and supersoakers - all of it FREEZING.  Bliss.  Pure bliss.  I gathered my remaining energy and realized I was in the home stretch now - only three more miles to go.

The closer I got to the finish line, the more finishers I saw walking back to their cars and to restaurants along Main Street.  Once again, I was jealous: not only were they done, they were done faster.  I pushed harder.  Upon entering the school grounds, I heard my big sister yelling "Go, BEAR!"  I looked up to see her and my daughter waving from the top of the bleachers.  I could not walk now...I had to finish running.  No more intervals.

I hit the track and knew it was less than a full lap.  I have never wanted to stop moving so badly in my life.  I desperately needed to walk, to just stand still...and then Crazy Train started playing.  It was my son's theme song all wrestling season, and I was reminded of his tenacity even when we all knew he wanted to give up.  I was reminded of our many talks about following through to reach goals, about not giving in or giving up...and all the moments I watched his jaw set and his eyes narrow...and I started sprinting for the finish line.  I knew I was already over five hours, but not by much.  I could still make this a goal reached.

I crossed the finish line at 5:02:44.  (Upon checking my results, my official chip time was 5:01:04.  I'll take it.)  I grabbed up my precious medal and stumbled into the open arms of Hubby, who literally swept me off my feet in the best hug EVER. 

I did it.  "Decide.  Commit.  Succeed."  That is the Beachbody slogan I see at the end of every TurboFire, ChaLEAN Extreme, and P90X workout I have ever done.  And though a simple formula, it works.  I am proof.  And now I have a marathon PR...which I will beat in the VIA this September.  I just need to start training.

I've Come A Long Way, Baby...

As I sit here and pretend not to be thinking over the looming miles, I can't help but think back over my sporadic running career.  I believe the first time I ran for fitness' sake was in college with my roommate Nes, when I would "reward" myself for a job well done and two miles run with a P-Funk and a handful of Oreos.  I've come a long way, baby...

At the end of my first race

My first actual race experience was the VIA Relay when I logged 5.5 miles in 55 minutes as the first leg for our team.  I walked A LOT of that race, but at no particular interval pace.  I recall an obvious marathoner slowing beside me, his fuel belt seeming, to me at that time, to be a tad excessive (I knew little!).  He asked if I was doing 1:1 intervals, as he was.  My reply?  "Nope.  I'm on the uphill/downhill system.  Walk uphill, run downhill."  I eked my way to Hubby, tapped out to the next runner, and slowly recovered from what I thought was a grueling and terribly long run.  I've come a long way, baby...

After my first Komen

From the VIA, I progressed to my very first Komen 5k.  It took us about 35 minutes to finish and I remember thinking that running made me fill really ill and excessively tired.  Regardless of how many times and ways I attempted to explain my nausea and exhaustion to Hubby, he claimed he, too, was tired from the race.  Little did we know that the babe was blossoming in my belly and I really was far more tired than Hubby.  Well, I knew how much worse I felt, he just didn't want to let me win.  We've come a long way, baby...

Seeing as how my belly was growing and I was slowing, I left running behind for prenatal workouts.  Post-babe, I discovered TurboFire (HOOORAAAAYYY!) and felt that was my soul mate workout.  What could be better?  I loved the intensity, the music, the quickness.  Nothing could be better!  I was about to come a long way, baby...

Crossing the finish line

My darling niece challenged me to a half marathon.  So what if it was a mere five weeks away?  If TurboFire was really that faboo, I ought to be in optimal condition.  Challenge accepted!  And guess what?  This time, I fell in love!  I loved waking up at the asscrack of dawn and running longer and longer routes before anyone else woke up.  I loved my race, the Rock N Roll Half Marathon in Providence, RI.  Live bands every mile?  Free Gu?  A gentle cooling rain?  Yes, please, and THANK YA!  I really had come a long way, baby.

And now...on the eve of the eve of my very first and very anticipated first marathon...I look back at my peppered race record and chuckle.  At what I thought was too difficult, too long, too steep...knowing now that the more difficult it is, the more fun it is to accomplish...the longer it takes, the more zen time I get...the steeper the climb, the more satisfication I get from climbing it.  (Somehow, the last part of the sentence suddenly seems perverted...oh well...)  So I am very much looking forward to Sunday morning, though I know pre-race will see a flustered Queen who must empty her bladder at least fifteen times before stepping across the starting line.  I just need to hold on to the knowledge that once running, all will be good.  These legs know what to do.  We're gonna go a long way, baby...

Easy Street

After my first QiDANCE master class

Rest week, shmest week.  My QiDANCE DVD came in the mail today and I had to get my groove on.  I just about have the first song down, hip swivels and all.  This is probably where not having a full length mirror comes in a little handy; I can imagine I look just as sexy as I feel.  And after more than a week of jammin' out to the CD, the moves are coming pretty naturally with the music.  I have about a month left before the first class and I plan on bein' readier than ready. 

Strolling

Hey there, sheep.

Aside from my new dancing obsession, I'm taking it slow and easy (aside from a Tabat Boot Camp class on Monday, but I kept it within range).  I actually took an entire day off yesterday, leaving me feeling at loose ends and as though I was forgetting something all day.  Today, the babe and I strolled leisurely along part of my regular running route, stopping for some photos and to say hello to the sheep.  And then, of course, my QiDANCE extravaganza. 

And all the while, several times a day and sometimes several times an hour, that marathon is racing around the back of my mind.  I have created and recreated a mental checklist for the day prior and the morning of.  Both involve the camera, of course.  And the afternoon after involves Skinny Girl cocktails (after I replenish a few calories) and friends and family to celebrate.  I keep contemplating a tiara but try to convince myself that my new medal will suffice.  What I haven't been concentrating on is the actual running of the race.

Along my route

I've been training for approximately seven months with this marathon in mind.  I don't skip training and I don't quit when I feel tired.  I eeked out some runs and blasted through others.  Most importantly, I have finished each and every one.  (Well, except for the one that was interrupted by some nasty shin pain...but I made that up the next week.)  I have put my time in.  This body is ready.  The race is not the hard part; the hard part is over.  I finished seven months of the hard part.  I know I can do five hours (or less!) of the easy part. 

A view on each run

A friend and fellow runner just reminded me that I will only get one first marathon, and I don't intend to waste it worrying.  I want to relish every moment (and I will relay many, so consider yourself warned) and keep the day as special as it ought to be.  This is just the public culmination of the days, weeks, and months I've spent preparing.  But, hey...we all know I love a good public spectacle involving myself.  And the fact that I get a medal at the end of it just makes it that much better.

It's The Climb

 This is where I am at the end of the first interval of 99% of my training runs.  Within five minutes, I am far enough away from the main road to not hear traffic and far enough into my session to begin realizing how blessed I am to live where I do.  We may not have Starbucks or malls and we may have to drive more than 20 minutes to get anywhere...but look what we do have.  It's not a fair trade; we certainly claimed the long end of the stick.  At this point, I am more likely to run past fishermen than cars and am more likely to be alone than in the presence of fishermen.  It's a quiet beginning to a quiet run, just the way I prefer it.  If anything is going to throw me off on Sunday, it will be the chaos that accompanies every starting line.  Because from here, I move on to this:

More tranquility, more beauty, and even less signs of progress.  My usual company here consists of geese (although, those geese aren't always tranquil...) and the occasional farmer on his tractor.  If the stream is high enough and rapid enough, I like to lower the volume on my iPod so I can listen to the water rush by.  By the time I get here...

I am already feeling the zen of sneakers hitting asphalt, the evenness of my breathing, the energy pushing my legs faster.  To the right is the lake, where I'm likely to see more fishing enthusiasts and runners like myself.  This is when the rest of my world begins to fall away, when I forget about the laundry, any temper tantrums or bills to pay, and my mind shifts instead to what lies ahead.  Because from here, it's only a few miles to get to my favorite spot...

This is my treat, one I only get when I do distance training.  It's about ten miles out and if I want to go through here, I have to plan on at least two to three hours of run time.  I've previously described the "veggie portion" of my runs.  This is my double chocolate fudge cake, fresh out of the oven.  It's worth busting through any tiredness that tries to creep in to hear the gravel crunch under my feet and know that I have a good two miles to be snug in this trail before I re-enter the real world of painted lines and fast cars.  I swear, the best songs always play here and I do some of my clearest thinking along this path.  Many a blog entry has been formulated between these trees and many a problem solved.  If my race has any spots like this, I'll be golden come Sunday.

No matter how far I run or which route I take, I always start and finish on the same road, with the same hill.  Setting out, the downhill is a great warm up and spur to get my feet movin'.  Coming home...it is the bane of my existence.  There was a time, seven or so months ago, that I was barely able to walk back up.  It required everything I had to breathlessly climb this hill.  Now...I run it.  Slowly.  Awkwardly.  But I'm running.  This hill may not be the steepest I've encountered during my months of training, but it is the most symbolic.  I can't get around it.  This is the way home and the last few minutes of my run.  I can either make it count or I can decide my run is over at the base.  I decided long ago to make it count.  So while this picture may not seem impressive or beautiful to you...to me, it is a turning point not only in my physical strength, but my mental determination as well.  If I can conquer this hill after a 21+ mile run, I can certainly finish that marathon. 



Will Over Reason

I go through insomniac phases.  Often I can blame this on the myriad small humans waking me during the night with various complaints of darkness, fear, thirst, or needs to vomit.  As of late, it has been the fault of the youngest and his molars.  The thing is, once he is again calm and settled, snug and warm and sleeping...Mama is wide awake with Brooks-wearing butterflies running about her tummy.

ELEVEN DAYS.  That, dear Readers, is less than two weeks.  Just in case you couldn't do that math.  Speaking of math, let's talk numbers, shall we?  Eleven days.  Five to six more runs.  One Komen 5k (still time to donate!).  26.2 miles.  One thousand or more of the aforementioned butterflies.

The good news is I am only nervous when the moon's out.  My confidence rises with the sun every day and my Ego resumes its normal magnificent size.  In the light of day, I am all "pshaw" and "it ain't gonna be NOTHIN.'"  But wake me mid-slumber and I can lie awake for hours mentally dissecting each twinge of the knee, crack of the hip, or slight cramp of the calf.  It is not so much that I'm worried about my ability to finish; I am worried about my inability to make it to the starting line injury free.  I have never been what one would call graceful. 

So.  The outcome of the worry is this: no more plyo.  Modified TurboFire (I restrain myself from out and out jumps for fear of bad landings).  Lots more stretching.  Absolutely NO high heels (not that living in our section of the sticks calls for heels very often, but just in case...that's the rule for the next eleven days). 

And if I need motivation?  Well, I always have you, right?  But just in case you choose not to cheer me on (I will assume the only reason will be that fireants have gnawed off your fingertips leaving you unable to type), I have stories of previous marathoners facing much greater odds than "but it's my first one."

Take Pheidippides.  He was the first marathon runner ever.  Not only did this guy fight in the Battle of Marathon, he ran 26.2 miles without stopping to declare the victory and then dropped dead.  Now that's some grit right there.  Of course, I am hoping for far different results after my 26.2.  But I've got walking breaks, Gu, and people handing me water.  Plus, PortaPotties.  Things have changed since 490 BC.  I bet the poor guy never even read a single issue of Runner's World.

I also rather enjoy the story of Kathrine Switzer, the first woman to wear a bib number in the Boston Marathon.  Registered as "K.V. Switzer," she was chased down by a male race official upon his discovery that she was, indeed, female.  He attempted to eject her from the race but was stopped by a protective wall of fellow racers.  She finished and went on to run 35 marathons. 

Suddenly, my little old Run for the Red seems teeny in comparison.  So teeny that I know I can squash it like a bug.  Still, though...feel free to praise me.  Or buy me a tiara or a crown so everyone can see I am a Running Queen.  I won't deprive you of those things.  Because, well...that's just the sort of thoughtful girl I am.

Now...if I could just get this kid to sleep...

Filling My Plate

Hey, how ya been? What's new? How's the family?  It's been too long! 

So, you may have noticed (or you may not have, but let's pretend you've been biting your nails with worry) that I haven't been posting for a few days.  The reasons are GOOD.  This fitness-lovin' gal has been busier than the proverbial bee.  I woke up to seven emails this morning, each one related to fitness and my Push goals for this year.  Now THAT is what I am talkin' ABOUT.

(Now, if you haven't been reading my posts or you've forgotten past entries, Push is a faboo book by Chalene Johnson.  If you are at a loss or wandering about in circles, this book is for you.  It's a map to squeezing the juice out of every. single. day.  Buy it.  Read it.  DO IT.) 

Anyway - my Push goals for the year included running marathons (the first is 12 days away!), contributing financially to my family (Beachbody coach), getting back into fitness as either a trainer or an instructor (I'll get to that in a moment!), and taking a vacation with Hubby sans kids (no true vacation planned yet, but we do have a full four days to ourselves at the end of this month).  It's all about the reverse engineering and planning out the daily steps to get the end result.  You're aware of my daily training, my weekly lengthy runs, my love of Beachbody.  And I'm about to make you aware of my need to teach.

In the years BC (Before Children), I was both a step aerobics instructor and a personal trainer.  I seriously loved my job.  I was paid to work out and share my love of fitness with others while they paid lots of attention to me.  Plus, there are mirrors literally EVERYWHERE in any gym, so I could pay lots of attention to me.  Everyone benefited.  I was an excellent and passionate trainer and instructor.  Clients were sad to see me go, but alas, I was moving back to my hometown and soon started baby production.  I didn't leave fitness behind, but I did turn my back on being the face of it for anyone aside from myself. 

Lucky you! Those days have passed!  Not only can you read my blog, follow me on Twitter and Facebook and Instagram - now I am available as a Trained QiDANCE Instructor!  I have my Foundation course under my belt and a meeting with a local aerboics studio on Friday to discuss gettin' this booty back to the front of the class.  ANOTHER GOAL is about to be knocked on its ass.  My awesomeness is beginning to amaze even me. 

Now you're likely excited and can't wait to sign up and work out with me, but I bet you're also thinking, "What the hell is QiDANCE?"  Um...it's awesome, too.  Think sexy dances, incredible music, and (as of Sunday) me as an instructor.  I love it for the same reasons I love TurboFire: it's a program that can be modified to the level of the participant, it's got serious booty movin' music, and it's incredibly FUN.  During the master class (about 1 hour long), I actually had such a kickass time that I was in shock when the end came.  No way that was an hour!  And now I have somewhere to put my enthusiasm!  I can physically interact with people!  WOOT!

And guess what?  When you reach one goal, you immediately feel not only capable but EXCITED to get to the next one.  Everything just starts falling into place.  Just this week, I have been contacted about Shakeology, TurboFire, ChaLEAN Extreme, and teaching classes.  I am still looking into that Exercise Science major.  And I'm researching various personal training certifications.  So I got that goin' for me.  Oh - and the bikini will be mine before the week is over.  That is some good stuff, right there.

What's on your plate this week?  Start a new program?  Eat more healthfully?  Read my blog and share it with your friends?  Tell me!  I wanna hear how fabulous you are, too!

Ice Queen

Rarin' to go!

Boo and YAH.  I.  Did.  IT.  And not just the planned twenty either.  I sprung for 21.14 miles, a little more than five shy of what I need to do in three weeks.  Go ahead, ask me how I feel.

PHENOMENAL.

All year long I have been settin' up goals and knockin' the suckers down, one by one.  And another one just bit the dust.  My confidence level for the race skyrocketed.  Not only do I know I could have pulled out that extra 5.1 miles this weekend, I know I can do it faster come race weekend.  All those hills I've been training on?  Ain't gonna be there.  In their place will be smaller, more gradual inclines and then a steady decline to finish out.  Add in that race day adrenaline, and I think I'm looking pretty good for my goal of five hours.  (Listen, I'm perfectly fine admitting that I am less than speedy.  For me, five hours is golden.)  But I bet you want to know more details other than "I'm awesome...again."  Read on, friends.

My plan of leaving the house at 6 am was shot down by the babe and general morning grogginess.  I managed a 6:30 leave time and Mother Nature was kind enough to give me plenty of sunshine without the slightest bit of warmth.  (Here is where I praise Hubby for his genius idea of lopping the feet off my knee high socks so I could wear them with my more padded ankle socks, thus leaving just my thighs exposed to the chill.)  I left with a full fuel belt and a bottle of E&E Formula already coursing through my muscles.

And guess what?  It was great.  I ran my Big Loop - the one that takes me past the church, the lake, and through the national park - stopping every 45 minutes to Gu up and stretch.  The cool air became a blessing (to every body part other than my exposed thighs, but they became incredibly numb and thus forgotten).  Even though I was in the mood for a little fartlek action, I forced myself to maintain my prescribed 3:1 intervals and it paid off.  At fifteen miles, I was on my front porch for all of two seconds before Hubs came busting out the door to refill my water, stock me up on more Gu, and reward me with Gatorade.  The monkeys helped out by bringing the needed supplies, and I was off again to finish up.  (Note: Crazy Train came on just as I hustled back onto the road.  Perfection in timing.)

21.14 miles ain't nothin'.

Around mile 17, I felt a slight tuckering out.  Apparently, this was sensed by the enormous turkey vulture that crossed my path at that exact moment.  I decided to take that as a sign to move my booty into gear (which was again aided by a feathered creature - I accidentally ran into the path of a mama goose and her goslings.  She also "encouraged" me to run faster).  I boosted my intervals to 4:1's and felt my energy surge back.  And I finished, feeling just as I feel after nearly every run - a tad tired and incredibly exhilirated.  (Hubby says I'm chatty when I get back from runs.  I think this is his loving way of telling me I am annoyingly close to excited Werewolf levels.)

I followed all the steps recommended to me: I continued walking about the front yard and inside the house for another fifteen to twenty minutes, stretched my fabulous legs, drank Gatorade, and ate my Clif bar, extolling my ever-so-interesting interval times and thoughts on pace.  And then...it was time...

...the ice bath.

I knew it was coming.  I knew it must be done.  I did not know it would HURT.  I ran 21.14 miles.  I have given birth three times.  I didn't cry then.  I wanted to cry the moment my ever-so-hesitant big toe grazed that icy water.

I swear, the stopper is colored by bathtime crayons...

So I whimpered and tried to justify myself to Hubby.  I probably didn't actually need to do an ice bath.  Probably I could just ice my knees and quads with frozen peas.  Probably I could just stretch a bit more.  Probably I could do anything else but this.  Because this, suddenly, seemed incredibly idiotic.

Being the wonderfully supportive Hubby that he is, he said no.  I pouted.  I fussed some more.  I even whined.  He reminded me that I was supposedly tougher than a bath tub of cold water.  Plus, I could not say I had done it if I didn't actually do it.  So, fine.  Whatever.  I did it.

It sucked balls.

(It does get slightly better after the first five minutes, but at no point does it actually feel good.  What does feel good are your muscles and your joints for the rest of the day and all of the subsequent days.  Seriously - minimal soreness.  I will be torturing myself again after the Big Race, as I feel ten minutes of extreme suckiness beats days of shuffling and whimpering as I descend the stairs.)

And now, I have all this calm and confidence regarding Race Day.  I am pumped for the exhibition the day before, where I can claim all sorts of swag and perhaps purchase more running gear.  I am even more pumped for that starting line.  I can really do this.  How f!#$kin' INCREDIBLE is that?!?  I ran 21.14 miles, and it didn't feel huge.  It felt like a run.  Which is always great, but just something I do. 

So bring it, 26.2.  I ain't skerred...

I got this.

What Runners Don't Tell You...

It's funny because it's true.  Although I must admit, I don't have a black toenail yet.  I do, however, sport two blood blisters and multiple callouses.  Pretty feet are simply not part of being a runner.  I mourned the loss of several hard-earned callouses two weeks ago when I went for what I thought was an innocent pedicure.  No one had warned me otherwise; I felt I deserved a treat for all the hard work I've been putting in.  It was dumb.  When I returned from my 16+ mile run the following day, I had enormous and incredibly painful blood blisters that frightened my children and sent them backing out of the room, away from me and my hideous feet, looks of disgust on their precious little faces.  Lesson #1: love your nasty feet.  Do not attempt to beautify them.  Focus instead on your lovely legs.  Lesson #1.5: invest in good socks.  $12.99 may seem pricey at first, but it becomes a hell of a lot cheaper when you're trying to wedge your sore feet into any shoes other than slippers.

Good socks and better bandaids.  And they always look good in running shoes.

Lesson #2:  If you run any serious distances, you're gonna have the urge do make a number two.  It is not a pleasant topic nor one to brag about.  ("You won't believe the BM I had when I finished my run! Incredible!")  I suppose this is why nobody warned me...but I discovered it on my own last summer while training for my half.  And discovered it again while running the half and being forced into portapotties after other runners experiencing the same awful smelling issues.  My suggestion?  No fruits or veggies before a long run, and try to "drop the kids at school" before you leave the house.  That may get you down to just gas.  (Further advice: always try to be first.  Not just to win, but because it places you out of the cropdusting danger zone.)  I sometimes imagine being propelled forward by these "power bursts" and often forget that though I cannot hear them due to my headphones, anyone I happen to pass will jerk their head in my direction.  So now I wait for the lonely backroads before I set myself free.

Lesson #3:  Gu, while effective, tastes like crap and feels like insect guts inching down your throat.  Think back to your first shots, chugging 'em back as quickly as possible and trying desperately not to puke in your mouth.  This is similar.  I gag every time, but I know I need easy fuel on those long runs.  So I stock up on what I deem the most unoffensive flavors and choke it back every 30 to 45 minutes.  My body thanks me nearly instantly upon finishing its initial revolt.

Lesson #4:  Slather yourself in BodyGlide.  I used to think myself quite special because I didn't chafe.  Turns out I just need to run farther.  Now I'm a chafin' fool.  So I got my first stick of Body Glide and have become a faithful user, applying wherever my skin touches clothing or other skin or armbands for my ipod.  I estimate I'll need another stick by the end of next week.  Chafe me once, shame on...my lack of chafing before.  Chafe me twice...Well, it's not gonna happen twice.  So there.

Lesson #5:  Always have frozen peas on hand.  They are excellent for icing sore knees upon finishing a distance run.  And it's economical and nutritious, too.  I bet you can't say that about any other ice packs.

Lesson #6:  Stretch mid-run.  I like to pause each hour and do a quick stretch while gagging on my Gu.  My legs thank me and I feel entirely refreshed when I start back up.  Stretch again for a longer time when you get home.  It's good for you and it feels delicious, too.  I call it my "poor girl's massage."  Plus, it gives me at least an extra ten minutes to excuse myself from tattling children and battles of who can do more and better math problems (no, seriously.  This happens.).

Lesson #7:  Rest before and after extra long runs.  I typically give myself one to two days beforehand and have watched my performance vastly improve.  The day after is also a rest day, but one involving as much non-workout movement as I can fit in.  Catch with the monkeys, a slow stroll, maybe another stretching session.  Just so the knees and muscles and hips and mind don't get all "We don't need no stinkin' workout" on me.  Sometimes you gotta remind those little whiners who's boss and that one day of hard work does not necessitate any lazing about.

Lesson #8:  If you're training for a half or a full marathon, you're gonna have to start blocking out some serious time.  Schedule in advance and be prepared to run in weather that doesn't involve sunlight or warmth.  Relish in being that batshit crazy person running in snow and rain or chugging along just as the sun wakes up.  Accept that sometimes life will get in the way and shorten your training sessions whether you pitch a fit about it or not (apparently, the universe does not care when I pout and make sarcastic comments).  The best way I've found to ensure I get my time in?  Schedule it the way I do anything else.  I will be busy at this time and Hubby must be present at home to prevent bloody battle wounds or playing with matches/running with scissors/etc.  Sometimes that requires asscrack of dawn pockets of time.  Deal with it.  If it's important, you'll find a way.  If it's not, you'll find an excuse.

Any Publicity Is Good Publicity

Maybe you set fitness goals for yourself on New Year's Eve.  Maybe you set them when the bikinis appeared on the racks at Target, taunting you as you strolled past in your fanny-covering sweater, venti caramel macchiato in hand.  The important thing is that you promised yourself fitness would be a part of your life from that moment on (and I know you made that promise because I have declared it so).  The thing is, if you only whisper that intent to yourself and if you only tell yourself when you're feeling not-so-confident, the likelihood of you actually attaining those goals is not-so-high.  I bet now you're wondering, "What should I do?"  Well, sit down and listen, little Readers.  I'm about to blow your mind...

Tell everyone. 

Shocking!  Sharing personal information?  With everyone?  Who would do that...?  I know what you're thinking, but I am not the only one.  We all do it.  Every day.  Some of us, every other minute.  Facebook, Twitter, Instagram...Words are no longer enough, now we must post pictures regularly.  (Which is also a FABULOUS IDEA.  Nothing is quite so motivating as sharing your before photos with people you haven't talked to since you were sixteen.) 

If you're reading this, chances are you've seen my Facebook/Twitter/Instagram posts on a pretty regular basis.  Now, I am perfectly aware that the multitudes I imagine following my every workout move are, in reality, more equivalent to a handful.  However...I know that the handful is watchful and this keeps me pressin' on.  I can't just back out now; I made a PUBLIC STATEMENT.  Actually, I've made a lot of public statements.  Marathon, Spartan Race, P90X Doubles...these are just a few that come to mind.  So now I'm training for that marathon, that Spartan, and every day, I'm doing P90X and contemplating my next round of goals. 

I don't care if everyone is tired of seeing my workout-related status updates.  I don't care if you don't want to see sweaty photos of my smiling face.  I will continue to post my goals and my progress.  (If you think I'm overdoing it with my training updates, just wait until I actually COMPLETE my goals...)  And I urge you to do the same.  Let everyone in your universe know what you're doing.  Not just online.  Talk about it the same way you talk about your kids/pets/jobs.  Just this week, I blabbed about my marathon training to my eye doctor.  I just felt he would want to know.  Same as the other parents in my and Jack's You&Me class Tuesday nights.  Or the cashier at Wegmans.  I announce it more frequently than I say my own name. 

Chances are, if you put it out there, not only will you feel more accountable, people will give you real encouragement.  I love my inbox messages and getting approached when I'm out and about by those who have read about my progress online.  And guess what?  My eye doctor really was interested and suggested supplements to help my joints.  This public declaration stuff really works.

I may even get a tshirt made up just in case I forget to tell the kids' bus driver or the waitress at the diner down the street.  I wouldn't want anyone to feel left out...