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...

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...

Feel Your Boobies (Or Her Boobies)

We all love a good rack, don’t we?  Whether you’re the owner or the purveyor, the beauty of the breast is quite apparent.  We love the girls, the twins, the ta-tas, the melons.  That is why each year on Mother’s Day, as a family, we don our pink and move our feet to show our love for the breasts.  It has become a family tradition to pack our bags and head to Philadelphia for the Susan G. Komen Mother’s Day 5k and celebrate the beauty and the health of the boobies. 

It's all about the love!

So, yes.  I do love fitness for fitness' sake.  But I love incorporating it into family activities and teachable moments for the smaller folk in our Clan, too. Quite literally, from dawn till dusk, we are moving as a unit that day and even the boys sport some pink.  In the past, the littler legs have demanded a "walking race," but this year, they have stated it's time to run!  It warms their mama's fitness-lovin' heart to hear those sweet words, but my expectations for actual running time are realistic.  As in, I am sure there will be excitement for the first three minutes followed by many more minutes of walking and perhaps asking to be carried (and that's just Hubby).

Checking in

Hotel Pool Magic!

But still!  It's a truly great family time every year.  We head into Philly the night before the race to check in and wander about, have a relaxing dinner, and enjoy the hotel pool.  (Side note: always book a hotel with a pool.  It is the most fun we have everywhere we go, though the reason still eludes me.  And thank you to my big sister for making me aware of the magic of the hotel pool.)  Race day begins early, with much rubbing of the eyes and asking why it is still dark outside (the sun is lazy!).  But by the time we hit the streets with our bib numbers and our pink, it's all about the fun!

The Race for the Cure

Music, free (healthy!) food and water, chances to shop pre-race, balloons...It's a smorgasboard of activity and smiling faces.  The walk itself is a lesson in gratitude as survivors walk or run alongside us.  And the bonding for us as a family is tremendous.  We have our tradition, our commitment to a Fit Life, our belief in the cause.  It all works.  And the day is good.

Best way to spend Mom's Day

Fight Like A Girl!

We are Team M&M.  We will run.  We will walk.  We will laugh.  We will wear our pink proudly and with honor.  And you?  You can join us!  Sign up with our team and run or walk with our crazy family!  If you can't make the race, donate and make our fundraising a success!  I've written about the strength of women before; the women we're walking for are some of the strongest women in the world.  This disease does not discriminate; we could be walking for your mother, your sister, your wife...or you.  Every dollar makes a difference.  Which is why I am choosing to donate 10% of all Beachbody sales between now and Mother's Day to our team fundraiser.  You want to get fit (otherwise you wouldn't be reading).  Here's your chance to get off your keister and be a good Samaritan at the same time. 

Mother's Day 2011

Look to your right...See all those links over there?  They take you right to my site.  There's also a new link to our fundraising page.  If you've ever found inspiration here, if you've ever found motivation here...throw a couple bucks into the pot.  And then feel your boobies.  Or your wife's or girlfriend's boobies.  Or tell a lovely lady that you've just made a donation and ask if you can feel her boobies.  See?  Giving is a wonderful thing.  Give freely so you can feel freely.