Life's Lessons: A Runners Reflection of Sorts

So yeah, I totally rule. I ran around Greenlake twice on Friday WITHOUT stopping. That's 5.6 miles, ya know. I only needed to run 4.5 miles, but I was feeling ambitious. So I just went for it.


Afterwards I pretty much died. My hips started to cramp, I felt a poop coming on, and I thought I might faint. Note to self: probably a good idea to eat a Powerbar before running long distances.


So, while I was running, I was trying to keep my mind occupied. I was having all these flashbacks to my childhood - which is weird because usually I try to forget about my pathetic existence as an adolescent. Too much awkwardness...too many shoulder pads...too much Kirk Cameron.


Things I have learned from childhood:

• Brush your teeth for at least 2 minutes
• Don't slam the car door
• Wear your raincoat, even if it's not raining
• Wipe front to back (never veer from this...trust me)
• Do not dump a boot full of sand in your eye
• Dad's suppositories are not mini bombs meant to be jumped on
• You break it, you buy it with your allowance
• No matter how many strangers you grab and call "Mom", they will won't take you home
• Dad's forget their daughters at gymnastics - it's totally normal
• Sugar is the root of all evil, but don't mention that to Mom when she's eating M&Ms
• Faking running away is not really a good way to get attention - you'll just get mad when you hear rejoicing
• Wooden spoons are good butt whackers
• It's totally not okay to put a piece of raw chicken under Dad's pillow
• Parents have favorites - if they haven't told you it's you, it's your brother. Good job Reid.
• Technically money does grow on trees because it's paper, but not on any tree that my parents own
• Even if it makes you barf, you must eat all of your fish soup that Mom made - making barf faces at your brother in the process is optional
• Do NOT order a pizza to a neighbor's house from a place that has a long distance telephone number
• While Dad's hair might look pretty in barrettes, do not tell his friends he let you decorate him
• You must scream "OW!" before your brother hits you
• Peas are Power Pellets and you totally rule if you can eat them faster than your gargantuan brother
• Michael Jackson will always be scary, no matter what year it is
• The love your parents have for you will last a lifetime and if necessary is able to move mountains to keep you safe
• Mom's jeans will always be too short and Dad will always match his sweatshirt to his sweatpants
  

So what does all of this have to do with running? Nothing much. Only that it is the type of nonsense that enters my head while attempting to run my cheesy arse off. Just imagine all the things I didn't share here because they are too weird...it's a crazy and scary world I live in.

On another note, I think I am being targeted by terrorists. Terrorists in the shape of birds. I was running yesterday around Fremont and I got pooped on. Right on top of my head. You have to be a pretty skilled bird to blast one on a moving target. I think this bird went to terrorist school. The School of Hard Drops. Maybe this is all the motivation I need to run faster.

Peace.

Courage

I'm not sure how to start this post. I don't want to sound egotistical or come off as a person that toots their own horn (no, not that horn, the other one). But I do want to share my story with you. It's the story of courage.

Somehow, by the grace of something bigger than me (an elephant maybe?) I have summoned the spirit to go on. The spirit of courage. The spirit of the half marathon. I know, I know, you're thinking "how is this possible? She is injured, she can't possibly still compete in the half marathon!" I beg to differ. And when I say "beg" I mean that in a non-verbal, non on my knees way. I've got to preserve my knees you know...don't want another injury.

Literally and metaphorically I have cleansed my soul/sole. I washed that bloody sock and now use it as a flag. A slightly rust colored flag. I wave this flag with pride at my accomplishments and future endeavors. Not literally of course, it would look a little weird to see a chick waving a dirty athletic sock; but figuratively. Emotionally. Spiritually.

I have found the courage to go on. The courage lives in me like a tapeworm lives in someone's lower intestines. It's eating away at me and makes me feel hungry...hungry for more running.
Oh, and I also found some Band-Aids. Helpful little buggers those are.

Okay, enough is enough. I'm still running. Haven't missed a day. I enjoy it ever so slightly. Nothing will stop me from running this race. Well, unless I get a horrible case of Amoebic Dysentery the night before the big run. That causes bloody diarrhea, ya know.

Moving right along. I ran 4 miles on Saturday. DyLon met me at my destination (The Bagelry) with a water bottle, a sweatshirt, my purse (it looked good on him), and a kiss. Don't need much more than that. Except for maybe a Havarti bagel sandwich, which I scarfed down.

All is well in the training world. I'm finding my groove and getting more and more confident that I can do it.

I can do it, ya know. I've got courage...and about 4 more dress sizes to lose.

I'm done for...

I'm injured. I'm done for. My life is over. I can no longer compete in the 2009 Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon. I was running the other day and all was seemingly well. In fact, it was better than well, it was ALMOST easy. Fault number one: thinking running was easy.

It wasn't until I got home that I realized how incredibly injured I was. I needed comfort. I wanted my Mommy to tell me it was going to be okay. I wanted my Fiance to hold me. I wanted sympathy. I was thrust into a deep dark depression because of my injury...and I knew that this would change me forever. I was now going to be the girl that couldn't compete because she had life threatening injuries. That girl. You know the one. The featured one on the 11:00pm news. Headline: "Girl gains injury, loses chances to compete." There will be a foundation set up in my name, I'm sure of it. Or at least I'll get a street named after me.

My injury, too gross for the weak of stomach and heart. My injury, too sad for the sympathetic. My injury, the bloody toe.

I know what you're thinking. It looks bad. Really bad. Perhaps I'll need amputation and a lifetime of therapy. Or perhaps I'll be doomed to a life of constant Band-Aid changes. Who knows. It is anyone's guess at this point. All I know is, my sock is stained, and so is my soul/sole. It is going to be hard for me to recover from this one. I just don't know where to start.

I guess it starts with courage.

Sigh...

"Would you like fat burners with that?"

Yesterday I ran to ballard and back. It was okay. Nothing fancy. Nothing out of the ordinary. No snot running down my cheeks. No farts. No weirdos trying to faux race me. No big deal. On the way back, I stopped in a store in Fremont. Should I name it? Meh, why not? Custom Smoothies and Sports Nutrition. My brother told me about Nuun tablets for hydration and electrolytes. Plop plop fizz fizz now you are a hydrated whiz!! I figured with my taste for anything alcohol flavored, I need all the help I can get in the hydration department. So I went into the store and bought a tube of tablets. The skinny beeotch behind the counter rang up my tablets, looked me up and down, and said "would you like fat burners with that?" WHAAA?!?!

I couldn't control myself. I flung myself across the counter (superman style), shoved her face in a pile of wheatgrass, gave her a wedgie, and forced her to eat 7 Reeses Peanutbutter cups. Of course, that was all in my head, as I tend to be a lover/sarcastic beeotch rather than a fighter. But still, I wanted to karate chop her. And I could have too, ya know, I took karate for a week one summer. I'm a transparent belt - so fierce you can't even see it.

What I actually did was glare at her and say "nah, I'm good." Didn't she know that since I started running I've shave two whole freakin' minutes off of my mile? AND lost 7 pounds (its probably all poop, but we won't get into that.) That's a big accomplishment and I'm sort of proud of myself. So there stupid skinny beeotch. Take your fat burners and shove them in your mean spirited gullet!

Man...I wonder if one of these days I'm going to have a nice post for y'all to read. They all seem to be pretty negative. Oh well, positivity is for after school specials. I like reality.

Special shout-out: DyLon I love you more and more everyday. Thanks for being my cheerleader (in a manly way, of course). I can't wait to marry you.

It's all uphill from here

I'm up to running 3.5 miles now. It feels good to be able to say that, although I know I'm behind schedule. Last week I ran around Greenlake on Monday and Wednesday. Monday was discouraging because it was 20 degrees outside and I ran SUPER slow. Like molasses in January slow. Wednesday was 43 degrees and I was able to shave 6 minutes off of my overall time. So...note to self: don't run outside in anything less than 43 degree weather. Friday I ran on the damn dreadmill. Man do I hate that thing! Regardless, I did have a little motivation as I was running. There was some cocky bastard running next to me in a yellow head band. He just looked like a douche. He had his dreadmill on speed "7" and was hauling ass...his yellow headband was soaked with douche juice. Anyway, he kept looking at me as if to say "ha ha, you're only running on speed 6, I'm a winner, you're a loser." Well, I'm not the type of person to let just anyone talk to me that way, even if it is all in my head. So I paced the hell out of him. I ran with him for a good 30 minutes. When he stopped running, I stopped and thanked my lucky stars he wasn't running anymore. Honestly, 15 minutes in, I thought I was going to die. But my competitive nature kicked in and I did my darndest to keep up with him. It sort of worked. I'm sort of proud of myself.
Last night I decided to run to Ballard and back. It was surprisingly fun. On the way back I stopped at PCC and got tortilla chips, a Guinness and Gorgonzola cheese. I can't think of a better reward. Well, besides a smooch from DyLon - but he was in Bellingham, so I had to settle for junk food.

Looking at my training schedule, I'm a little intimidated. I have to run 4 miles on Saturday. That just sounds like a lot to me, even though it's not even 1/3 of a half marathon. Does that make sense? I'm horrible with fractions...

I can do it though. Reid, Heather, and Miriam all say so.