project race monthly update

Still runnin'. I've been getting into the good habit of waking early during the work week to take the Woof for our 6.5K runs. It's a harder run; there is no time to let my oatmeal digest before embarking - so I don't eat anything at all, for fear of the stitches - meaning that after about 4Ks in I have to pull out everything I got that the previous night's sleep didn't completely deplete within me. These morning runs are a good four to five minutes longer than when I do them any other time of the day. But I can't wait until the sun rises earlier and I can watch the warm glow of the world open the door to another day. Photosynthesis for my soul.

52:10

T'was a good run, made better by three things: B., my groupie, who claimed to have spent the better part of the run reflecting on the last year of my life instead of her own, and who has agreed to hold my hand yet again at the start line of the ING Ottawa Marathon (10K race) in late May; the route along the canal that inspired serenity and reflection, given that it was the same path H. and I undertook countless summer mornings, running shorter distances that were much, much harder than what was endured tonight; crossing the finish line knowing that I've found it - my thing - and that there will be no more broken resolutions after a painful and unsuccessful search for it to carry around like a monkey on my back.

mixology

After Adoring and Wonderful Husband got me an iPod for our fourth anniversary, I spent countless hours searching the web for playlists that would lend themselves well to running. A good playlist is hard to find. How death metal can motivate your metabolism, I don't get, but to each their own, I suppose. Anyhoo, in lieu of posting anything interesting, I give you the two playlists for running I have come up with so far. The first one is called I'm f***ing beautiful, for reasons that are clear once you listen to it, and the second one is called New Running Mix, because a creative genius I ain't.

I'm f***ing beautiful - 1.1 Hours
Continental Drift (Intro) - The Rolling Stones
Let's Get It Started (Spike Mix) - Black Eyed Peas
Deceptacon - Le Tigre
The Empty - Le Tigre
Steady, As She Goes - The Raconteurs
Seven Nation Army - The White Stripes
Take Me Out - Franz Ferdinand
Rebellion (Lies) - Arcade Fire
Hung Up (SDP Extended Vocal) - Madonna
Friendship Station - Le Tigre
Children Of The Sandstorm - Darude vs Robert Miles
The Most Wonderful Girl - Lords Of Acid
Slid - Fluke
Hey Ya! - OutKast
Crabbuckit - k-os
Hot in Here - Nelly
Don't Cha - The Pussycat Dolls
When It's Good - Ben Harper

New Running Mix - 52 minutes
Tom's Diner - Suzanne Vega
When the Night Feels My Song - Bedouin Soundclash
Float On - Modest Mouse
When It's Good - Ben Harper
The Hardest Button to Button - The White Stripes
White Rabbit (Club Mix) - Latin Headhuntrz
Tainted Love - Soft Cell
Hollaback Girl - Gwen Stefani
Let's Run - Le Tigre
Mind Flood - Sam Roberts
Music - Madonna

(Oh yeah, and if anyone is interested in having me burn these onto disc for them, don't ask, because I won't do it. I especially won't respond to any emails that ask me nicely to make them a couple cds, maybe as a Christmas gift or something, because burning cds for distribution is wrong. Very, very wrong. So don't ask. But if you wanted to email me about other things, you can click on my picture at the top right hand corner of this blog to get in touch. I am a law abiding citizen. Most of the time.)

it's posts like this that will come back to bite me in the ass someday

A recent tata injury that kept me off the pavement for the 72 hours it took until the first signs of healing appeared made me once again consider my addictive personality. (Regarding my Booby Juicer damage, suffice it to say that sometimes lemons get bruised when lemonade is on the menu. And for all you men who think that doesn’t sound like too much of a big deal, consider how your own fruit might feel if they were damaged from the inside out. Damn straight you should be cringing right now, in addition to picking up the phone to call your mother for everything she’s done for you.)

Luckily for me, the same compulsive tendencies that witnessed me start a half a pack a day habit at age 13, and convince me that the words “two” and “beer” should never be uttered in the same sentence (unless that sentence is “I’ll bring twenty-two beer to the party, if you bring the cake”), motivate me to make a run for it every day I can. Whether the course is 5K or 10K matters not; the high I achieve when I walk in the door after a solid run keeps me coming back for more. The walking I was forced to resort to for a couple of days a week or so ago now seems so pedestrian (“har-dee-har-har, Winter”), even though that was my exercise of choice for a full year before I took up running. Small steps, right? (“GUF-FAW.”)

I don’t often write about how much I’ve started to enjoy running, because I don’t really want to be that person who sometimes inspires, but always annoys, every time he or she writes about a recent run. I know this is how I will portray myself, because there is no other way a runner can portray themselves to non-runners, even if they never utter one word about their habit. Just the mere fact they run past you as you walk down the street is enough for you to simultaneously think “What-EVER, Exercise-y. Give. Me. A. Break.” And then to also secretly pout: “I wish I could do that.”

Because admit it, all you runners out there. You’re pretty darned proud of yourselves for running, and like to brag about it once in a while too, even if that brag is silent, and consists only of owning the latest shoe that communicates with your iPod to tell you how far you’ve run, and at what pace. (How. Rad. Is. THAT?) While I usually shun the cool kid’s club (partly because I’m, like, so anti-establishment, maaannn, but mostly because I don’t want people to stare at me with a puzzled look on their face that asks “what the heck does that fat girl think she’s doing here?!!”), taking up running has been for me like getting into the Wisha Coulda Eata Pie sorority: it’s a license to download all the latest hip-hop I can shake my booty to, and collect the Do Not Pass Go card when I think I might be turning a bend that will take me someplace where I might feel bad about myself, and how I look. So, yes, hate me for a moment like I loathed all those runners who came before me, with their snide v-neck long sleeve running shirts with moisture wicking, and contemptible cardiovascular capacities, and all. Hate me when I say this, but: I love running, and not even a swollen jug can take me down.

Project RACE monthly update

Q: What's this post for? I thought you were done with that race. If you keep posting under something called "Project RACE", does that mean I still have to keep giving you money? Because I'm toe-tally broke my friend. And Christmas is coming up. And while it was for a good cause and everything, I just can't give you any more of my money. Those United Way people at work have been driving me up the wall, and now I have to spend my lunch breaks (which is the ONLY time I ever surf the net at work, right?) dealing with THIS?

A: Relax. Have an enima, or some BEERS, and chill. I'm not asking for money. I just think that if I keep posting a monthly progress report on how my running/weight loss/a life that's a lot less fun, or at least not as tasty, is going, then I'll do better staying on track.

Q: Oh, really. So that means we have to sit here and let you gloat about how healthy you're becoming, and brag about how well your running's going, and BLAH BLAH BLAH. Because you know what? WE DON'T CARE. You were fat, and now you're getting less fat. BIG BULL CRAPPY WHOOP.

A: Hold it there, Miss Hostility. I know how you feel. No one likes hearing about self-improvement, unless it's them. It makes them feel guilty every time they eat a chocolate bar, or breathe. Let me be clear (à la Paul Martin): I'm not doing this to crow about how awesome I am. I'm doing this to help me help myself. Example: this morning I really, really felt like staying in bed for as long as possible, but because I knew I had this post today, I got out of bed and got ready for the gym. At the gym, I gave my bootie three extra shakes, just because I knew I had to weigh myself and write it down for you all to see. And I'm glad I did, because the end result was nothing short of spectacular. It helped me break the 40 pound mark. That's right. I've lost exactly 4o FREAKING POUNDS since I started this thing. So, Judgy Judgerson, Mr. I Like To Rain On Peoples' Parades: put that in your pipe and smoke it. If you don't like these posts, you can bite my increasingly toned bum.

Q: -----

A: Ummm, Q? You still there?

Q: -----

A: Oh. I guess you left, eh? Whatever, Q. You're just jealous.

Project RACE, the conclusion?

So that's it. It's done. Months of training for a measly 30:22 (!) 5k run looping the Parliament Buildings and Museum of Civilization. It was a nice morning for a run...after the cold, cold rain stopped viscously spitting on me, just minutes before the horn blew. The blustery weather prevented the Babe and Adoring and Wonderful Husband from seeing me off, or digitally recording my departure from and arrival at the finish line for posterity, and this blog. The urge to pee the minute we pulled out of the driveway wasn't quelled by the prospect of toilets at the run site, toilets of the Porta variety. I held it as I stood alone in the chilly wetness and vainly searched for H. or B., feeling sorry for myself just long enough to remember I still had boobies, and my mom, and less fat on my bum than I had just a few short months ago when I nervously filled in the on-line registration form, thinking "What am I DOING this for? What if I FAIL?" The same feeling I just had as I filled out the form for the 10k Resolution Run on New Year's Eve (but don't worry; this one won't cost you anything. It's just for me.)

So in the end you all contributed a total of $390.00. Thank-you so, so much! And I would be remiss if I didn't give extra special thanks to the following two extra special people who helped me reach my goals: H., for cracking the whip as I huffed and puffed my way during the early days at Strollercizing (and also her words of encouragement when I wheezed to her "I don't think I can do this!"), and Adoring and Wonderful Husband, for standing on the front step with the Babe in arm, waiting to cheer me on as I come around the corner.

While it may be true that the important things in life are more about the journey than the destination, it's still pretty cool to get to where you're going (especially if there's a warm and clean toilet at the end of the line). See you next year.

Project RACE monthly update

Okay Gido, by my calculations you owe me (or rather, you've agreed to donate to my fundraising efforts for the CIBC's Run for the Cure coming up this Sunday) $120.00. Yes. $120.00. If you're having problems with the math, Mr. Iron Ring, it equals out to 31.5 pounds of sweat money. Pretty awesome, eh? I think I will take your advice more often by putting my goals in writing. It seems to work.

In case anybody else is interested in ensuring booby goodness is here to stay, you can click here. Or here. Or here. All these links go to the same place, but I wanted to make absolutely sure you have no excuse not to click, because, uhh, it's crunch time folks, and so it's TIME FOR YOU TO PONY UP. COUGH UP THE CASH. SAVE THE TATAS, AS IT WERE. SO CLICK HERE...NOW!

Final update Sunday after the race, and all the honey garlic wings and nachos I plan to ingest by way of the glorious gluttonous celebration I've dreamed of during each and every one of my runs since I started this thing, or maybe Monday, in case those wings and nachos don't sit right, and I spend all Sunday night in the baño, ruing the run(s). This includes a total of all fundraising. So CLICK HERE NOW!

philanthropists

Just three more weeks to go until the CIBC's Run for the Cure. A big thank-you to the following people who have donated so far:

- S.
- Grandma
- Grandma
- K.
- C.

Please click HERE to support those of us who are running that day to raise money to find a cure for breast cancer and add your initial to this list!

Project RACE monthly update

I was VERY concerned about writing this post given the month I've had - a trip to the Holy Land, a visit from Grandma A - all things that threw me off my regular routine, but only just by a bit. While I have been quite lax keeping my food journal updated, I've done pretty well with the running, and it looks like I will have no problem being able to complete the 5K at the CIBC Run For The Cure in a little over a month (oh. my. God! Is October really only little over a month away?? **weep, sob, sob**) In fact, it's going so well that I am considering signing up for a 10K race to take place on New Year's Eve (called the Resolution Run). Anyone interested?

But now it's time to really start focusing on the other aspect of my goal: raising three hundred bones to go towards finding a cure for breast cancer - the whole reason for the run in the first place. At the time of writing I am only at 8% of that target. (Thanks S.!) So click here and GIVE UP YOUR MONEY, PUNK! The harassment will only get worse, so you might as well save yourself some trouble and just do it now...NOW!

Project RACE monthly update

It’s been exactly one month since I committed to running 5 kms at the CIBC’s Run for the Cure on October 1st. At that time, I also promised periodic updates on the progress of what I’ve termed “Project RACE” (which stands for Reece, Avery, Cha! Cha! Cha! and Emma). So here it is folks:

I’m. Kicking. Ass.

My running improves every week. H. and I usually make it to at least two episodes of Stollercizing per week, and I’ve been running on my own once or twice a week to supplement my training as well. The result so far? Last Monday I ran 5 kms! Granted, it took me a good 45 minutes to do it, but I’ve never ran that long without stopping in my life. Never. And I’m even more impressed with myself when I think I did it all while pushing a 26-pound stroller (and the 17-pound baby that was inside of it)!

I’ve been losing weight and inches. My life-long allergy to scales eased a bit over the last four weeks since I’ve tried to get it in my head that ignorance is NOT bliss. I used to tell myself that as long as my clothes fit properly it didn’t matter how much I tipped the scales at, but that theory only works when you don’t have to go out and buy new clothes every time you’ve outgrown your old ones. Last month was the first time in recent memory when I weighed myself BY CHOICE (all other times in the not-so-distant past were at the doctor’s office when I was preggers with the Babe), and today I did it again. You know what? There was a 13 pound difference! While I’m sure much of that was water weight, and also just the natural shedding of poundage that happens to all new moms, I’m still estatic, especially since my measurements have been shrinking right along with the numbers on the scale (I’ve lost 1 ¾ inches off my bust, 2 ½ off my waist and 2 ¼ off my hips). I think I am now officially down to my pre-baby weight (though that’s not a weight to go and get a parade permit for!)

I have one word for all of this: sweet. Even sweeter than the five cupcakes I ate this past weekend in celebration of Adoring and Wonderful Husband’s 30th birthday. And that’s what I have to keep telling myself, because my middle name is Sabotage. I can’t start thinking that I can ease up just because I’ve dropped a few pounds, which is something I seem to do every time I get myself on the right track. So that’s my goal for the next month. To keep it up. I’ll report back again and let you know how I’m doing.

(PS. Oh ya, and I've already registered for the race. Just thought I'd tell ya in case, you know, you want to pledge early or something.)