If you ask a real runner for advice they may talk to you about how to avoid chaffing, when to eat gu, or how to achieve that elusive negative split. But, not me. No sir. (That's probably because I'm not a real runner but let us proceed...)
If you ask me for advice I'd tell you this: Never and I mean NEVER eat an entire order of onion rings and a large Dr. Pepper right before running 14 miles. Never.
Unless of course you'd like to see them again somewhere between mile 9 and 10...in a high school parking lot...while the tennis team is out playing...and some rising generation stoners are chillin' by the fence...then by all means, eat on my friends, eat on.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Lukewarm
I just ate some lukewarm leftovers for lunch. I couldn't wait that extra 30 seconds for the microwave to make them nice and piping hot.
Seriously, what's wrong with me?
Seriously, what's wrong with me?
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Raging Hormones
I was so grumpy yesterday. Everything seemed to tick me off. The weather. Our broken furnace. My hair. The laundry. Stray cats. Rubber place mats. You name it. I hated it.
Then I had to go running. Blah. At the gym, on the treadmill. Triple blah.
At the gym the treadmills are neatly lined up facing out the West windows. This means two things #1. It gets stinking hot right there in the evenings as the sun is going down. and #2. As the sun sets you can see your reflection in those windows as you run.
By the time I get there it's evening. The sun is setting and it's hot. Super. I'm mad and running and am mad about running. I want to be home with my family. I want to be lying on the couch eating nachos. I want not to be covered in sweat. Not even my usual running play list can cheer me up. (When Burl Ives can't even snap me out of it you know it's bad.) So I start skipping through songs. I land on Queen.
The next thing I know I'm sobbing. I'm running and crying and watching myself in the window. I'm still no athlete but I see that now I move different and I look different and it's still so hard but what a different girl I am than I was 6 months ago. And suddenly I'm overwhelmed and grateful at the same time by who I am and the fact that I can do hard things.
Yes, indeed, I am a champion my friends.
Then something funny happens outside (something for my next post) and I laugh so hard I snort. A booger hits the treadmill monitor. What is going on?!? I'm listening to Queen for crying out loud (which is excatly what I was doing). I reprimand myself for not recognizing my hormonalness sooner, wipe my eyes, finish my run, and clean off the treadmill.
In an effort to stabilize my mood swings before heading home I stop off at the gas station for a Dr. Pepper. Pulling into the parking lot I almost run over a teenage couple so wrapped up in an effort to make out as they walked that they didn't even see my silver mini van barreling straight towards them!
I swerve. I miss. I park. I smile. I go get my soda. I may be moody but at least my hormones don't drive me to make out with an acne ridden emo in women's jeans during a wind storm at the gas station. Thank goodness.
Oh but did I mention, that we are the champions my friends?
And we'll keep on fighting 'till the end. We are the champions.
WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!!!
No time for losers.
We are the champions.....
...of the world....
Then I had to go running. Blah. At the gym, on the treadmill. Triple blah.
At the gym the treadmills are neatly lined up facing out the West windows. This means two things #1. It gets stinking hot right there in the evenings as the sun is going down. and #2. As the sun sets you can see your reflection in those windows as you run.
By the time I get there it's evening. The sun is setting and it's hot. Super. I'm mad and running and am mad about running. I want to be home with my family. I want to be lying on the couch eating nachos. I want not to be covered in sweat. Not even my usual running play list can cheer me up. (When Burl Ives can't even snap me out of it you know it's bad.) So I start skipping through songs. I land on Queen.
The next thing I know I'm sobbing. I'm running and crying and watching myself in the window. I'm still no athlete but I see that now I move different and I look different and it's still so hard but what a different girl I am than I was 6 months ago. And suddenly I'm overwhelmed and grateful at the same time by who I am and the fact that I can do hard things.
Yes, indeed, I am a champion my friends.
Then something funny happens outside (something for my next post) and I laugh so hard I snort. A booger hits the treadmill monitor. What is going on?!? I'm listening to Queen for crying out loud (which is excatly what I was doing). I reprimand myself for not recognizing my hormonalness sooner, wipe my eyes, finish my run, and clean off the treadmill.
In an effort to stabilize my mood swings before heading home I stop off at the gas station for a Dr. Pepper. Pulling into the parking lot I almost run over a teenage couple so wrapped up in an effort to make out as they walked that they didn't even see my silver mini van barreling straight towards them!
I swerve. I miss. I park. I smile. I go get my soda. I may be moody but at least my hormones don't drive me to make out with an acne ridden emo in women's jeans during a wind storm at the gas station. Thank goodness.
Oh but did I mention, that we are the champions my friends?
And we'll keep on fighting 'till the end. We are the champions.
WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!!!
No time for losers.
We are the champions.....
...of the world....
Monday, May 3, 2010
My Daughter and the Continuing Saga of Her Love Affair with Meat
What was the first thing Grace said to me this morning?
I'll give you a hint. It's the same thing she's said every morning for the past few weeks.
Meatballs.
She wants to have the movie "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs" on all day, all night, all the time, whenever. When it rains steaks she stands up and holds out her hands. When it rains giant hot dogs she sits then and whispers "hot dog" for the next 5 minutes.
Strange.
But as I've mentioned in other posts ("Sausage" and "Meat") I already know she has a deep and creepy love for all things grilled. However, today she took it to a whole new level.
After leaving the gas station on our morning drink run I noticed Gracie had something in her hand. "What do you have?" I ask. "Meat" she replied.
"Meat?"
"Meat. "
Sure enough, it was meat. Well, not exactly meat but it was a $25 gift card to a local steak house that my precious baby girl had shoplifted from the gas station!
What am I going to do?
I'll give you a hint. It's the same thing she's said every morning for the past few weeks.
Meatballs.
She wants to have the movie "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs" on all day, all night, all the time, whenever. When it rains steaks she stands up and holds out her hands. When it rains giant hot dogs she sits then and whispers "hot dog" for the next 5 minutes.
Strange.
But as I've mentioned in other posts ("Sausage" and "Meat") I already know she has a deep and creepy love for all things grilled. However, today she took it to a whole new level.
After leaving the gas station on our morning drink run I noticed Gracie had something in her hand. "What do you have?" I ask. "Meat" she replied.
"Meat?"
"Meat. "
Sure enough, it was meat. Well, not exactly meat but it was a $25 gift card to a local steak house that my precious baby girl had shoplifted from the gas station!
What am I going to do?
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