catheroominations

I came across this today while signing up for…erm…Weight Watchers. I’m going to be old this year and hell if I’m starting my oldest year yet being a unable to fit into the majority of the clothes in my closet.

But really, is this necessary? Really?

I could use y’all’s support on my journey, so pardon me if this blog becomes a semi-journal of eating habits. Don’t worry, I’ll try to throw in a few cat stories here and there to make it extra entertaining!

Also, Team In Training has suggested that I mentor some runners next season, and how can I do that when I have to lug around all this junk in my trunk? I’m supposed to motivate people! But I guess it would be motivating to be able to run faster than one’s mentor. So maybe I should keep this extra cushion around me.

Nah. I’d rather be hawt, and kick my mentees’ butts all over the place.

I did it!

I’ll post more detail later. Right now, I can’t think straight enough to type.

I ran 10 miles for the second time yesterday. This time I hardly walked at all, except for the 1-minute walk portion of my 5-mile run, 1-minute walk interval. I ran with a TNT teammate, we took it very slow, and we took a LONG time. I run like a snail, I really do. This concerns me because only the first 6,000 finishers receive medals at the half marathon I am running IN TWO WEEKS. They allow 10,000 to register. That means, I have to run faster than FOUR THOUSAND PEOPLE. Not going to happen, nope.

It should be noted that I have never won a medal, trophy, or ribbon in anything, except for a First Place prize that everyone in my 5th grade class got who submitted a book for the elementary school young author’s book fair. And that ribbon was a piece of blue “ditto” paper, cut into the shape of a ribbon, pasted to the inside front cover of The True Story of Smokey, my cat. Around that time there were several unauthorized autobiographies about him, but I wrote the truth.

Now where was I? Oh. Yeah. I want a freaking medal for running 13.1 miles, dammit. Just knowing that I completed such an event should be validation enough for me, but it isn’t. I want concrete, material evidence of my efforts! Bragging rights! So I can be all, “Look what I did! I have a medal! Do you have any half marathon medals? No? I must be better than you then!” I would then huff hot air on it and polish it on my shirt for effect. Also, if I get a medal, it means I did not come in last, which is something that is unacceptable to me. I hate don’t mind that I’m slow, or that I am the last person to finish a timed trial at our workouts. There are just 40 or so people there, and most of them have done this whole running thing for years. But out of thousands of people, surely there should be a few slower than I, right? I mean, I have to be faster than the walkers, don’t I? Please, can 4,000 people be walking that day?

Maybe I should look into buying those shoes with skates on the bottom. Heelies? Is that what they’re called? Maybe then I’ll gain some speed on these people.

Maybe Barry Bonds can juice me up before, since I will be in San Francisco and all.

I know! Have Taye Diggs running ahead of me in nothing but black boxer briefs, and Dexter chasing after me with a hypodermic needle and cranial saw. Then, maybe I can run faster. Maybe.

Ooh! I could put Ex-Lax in the water at the hydration stations. Scratch that. It’s just mean. Plus, it could backfire because I would probably need the facilities at some point, and the lines would be insane, thus extending my time even more.

Le sigh.

Perhaps I should hail a cab and ride to near the end of the course, and then sprint across the finish line, all fresh and lovely like Katie Holmes did in New York. (NOTE: I’m saying she finished looking lovely, not accusing her of taking a cab or being transported by Xenu-led aliens or anything.)

Did you know that the winning team in the Super Bowl gets a trophy AND each player gets a big, huge, gaudy ring, even those who DID NOT PLAY in the game? And some of the players already have a ring or two. Award hogs! Can’t there be a rule at this half marathon where those who already have medals wait until medals are presented to all who have never received one? That seems totally fair to me. Were I one of those people with piles of medals, I would surely offer mine to a poor soul who ran too slowly in her first half marathon to beat four thousand other runners. Because I’m nice like that.

I was up before 6 am today to prepare for my run. Yes, I know it’s Saturday. I’m still new at the running thing, so any run I go to is an event. I have to make sure I have all the warm clothes I need, the hydration belt, the snacks. It’s quite an ordeal and still unnatural for me so it takes a while to prepare. I also get butterflies before each run. I also need to eat a real breakfast before I go, which is not something I really care to do just after waking up. But I need fuel, and will be miserable without it, so I do it, and the oatmeal battles the monarchs in my gut.

I met the gang at the carpool location at 6:45, although I would be driving myself because I needed to be back early for a wine tasting party this afternoon. Our last carpooler was late (I DETEST lateness), which meant we’d have to hustle to make our 8 am start time. According to Google Maps, it would take over an hour to get there, but with Last Minute Sally showing up tardy, we barely had an hour before the run would start.

As we hit the road, I knew I’d have trouble keeping up with the car I was following. At one point, I yelled to the driver that she was going to get us pulled over. Of course, I was yelling this in my enclosed and fabulously heated car and she was about 10 car lengths ahead of me, so my warning fell upon deaf ears. This was when I was following at 85 mph. Shortly after we merged onto Hwy 17, I saw a CHP car, and immediately slowed down. The car I was following did not slow down too much, but she did tap her brakes.

Guess what happened next.

I got pulled over for speeding.

Surprise!

Apparently the speed limit where I was clocked was a mere 50 mph, and I was going 65. Since I saw this ticket coming, I didn’t protest. I didn’t play dumb, I just handed over the required documentation and took my punishment. In hindsight, I should have pulled the “I’m running to cure cancer! I need to follow that girl up there!” card, but I did not. Surprisingly, it didn’t take too long for him to write my ticket, and I was back on the highway in less than 5 minutes. Still, this setback made me want to turn around and go back to bed. I would surely be late for my 8 am start. What was the point? The lead car had sped off on her way, unkowingly leaving me in the dust. AND! She did not get tagged for speeding. Perhaps his radar gun didn’t go as high as her mph.

But I went anyway. I had to. It was a 10-mile run, and my last chance for a long run until the new year, since I will be traveling when they hold the other runs.

Hey! Did you know that it is cold as @#$% near the ocean at 8 am? It is. And was. During the run, frost formed on my gloves. My teeth chattered. The five miles out part was actually OK, despite the mud and rocks and roots from the redwoods. The scenery was lovely and distracted me from remembering I was running. FAR. I kept a pretty good pace. I was thrilled to reach the 5-mile point which meant I was halfway done and I could turn around and head back. YAY! And I was good, for the first two miles back. And then, my legs decided they didn’t want to move anymore. They suddenly hurt like hell. I think it was my hamstrings, but really, my entire leg (both of them) just felt stiff and painful. I stretched, but it didn’t help, so I pretty much walked the rest of the way. And I arrived at the finish 25 minutes later than I should have (according to the goal I had set for myself). If people hadn’t stopped to chat with me on their way to the finish, I’d probably have been in tears. Because I could not run. I did not want to run. I hated running.

When I came home, too late to attend the wine tasting outing, I did the ice bath. Fortunately, I have found a way to take my mind of the frigidity of the water. Cry. I let it all out and cried like a pansy-ass baby until the last cube was melted.

As I type this, my body is still trying to thaw out. I’m cold. I’m miserable. And I hurt. For me, this day has sucked more ass than Oprah’s liposuction technician.

I ran eight miles today along the coast of Half Moon Bay. It was gorgeous. And damn hard, let me tell you. Even with the five-minute run, 1 minute walk, it was still hard. And far. And the friggin’ wind made it seem like I was running in place for about 3 of those miles.

Since Half Moon Bay isn’t near my house, I needed to find a way to ice myself other than my usual post-run ice bath. Sitting in a car for an hour sort of lessens the benefit of the ice bath, since you’re supposed to do it soon after the run. So I rolled up my pant legs as far as I could and walked into the ocean. We stood there for 10 minutes, my TNT teammates and I, our teeth chattering. It was freezing, but if I didn’t do it, I’d be so much more sore than I will already be when I try to get out of bed tomorrow.

And I officially changed the event I’m training for. I’m doing the Napa FULL marathon. That means I only need to run just over three times further than I did today. Uhm…yeah.

…would it be THAT much harder to do twice that? Really?

It seems I have some very generous donors and I have surpassed my $1,800 minimum fund raising goal in less than two weeks. You know who you are, and I thank you from the bottom of my bottom (which is so much larger than my heart). Honestly, every dollar you donated proves to me that you have faith that I can complete the half marathon. I am ever grateful for that support. And your motivating comments will help me push through the miles. And thank you for joining in my endeavor to tell cancer to SUCK IT.

So since I’m almost to the minimum fund raising goal required to participate in a different, bigger, crazier event, I might do it. Sure, it’s a full marathon, but why not go all the way? Oh, and did I mention the name of this marathon? The Napa Valley Marathon. I like running. I like wine. It’s the perfect combination, yes? Well, except for the whole 26.2 miles thing. My ultra-supportive and fabulous mentors think I should go for it. I’m not yet convinced. I still cannot fathom running THIRTEEN MILES in one day, let alone double that. Running a half would be symbolic of kicking cancer in the ass. But going 26.2 would flip cancer the bird. With both hands. That is tempting.