I'm fairly certain I showed up to set class drunk this morning.
I stayed out way too late last night kanoodling with family, shooting vodka and making sex time with the husband.
At five o'clock this morning as I was driving to the gym, questioning my sobriety and pondering my blood alcohol level I came to the harsh conclusion that I'm not a spring chicken anymore.
6 hours of sleep and blowing a .08 on a breathalizer before running 3 miles in the morning was my personal normal a few years ago.
Now I'm knocking on the late 20's door begging for 8 solid hours of sleep, 4-6 servings of vegetables a day and seeking out a good night cream.
Getting older is blowing my figurative balls.
Speaking of getting older, it's the husbands Birthday week!
I'm throwing him a conspiracy theory party. Complete with an alien cake and UFO cupcakes and tinfoil hats so the aliens and government can't read our minds.
Shit's gonna be off the chiiizzzain.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Thursday, November 3, 2011
The half
You know how a vagina feels when it's giving birth and ripping from side to side and bleeding and tearing and crying and then all of a sudden BAM! EXPLODES! EVERYWHERE. VAGINA SCHRAPENAL ALLOVER EVERYTHING!
Me either.
But if I had to pick the perfect analogy for how my calves feel, that would be it.
I survived my first half marathon. The first 5 miles were extremely downhill. Which, I thought, OK cool... Curvy girl, momentum, down hill, walk in the park. (Or canyon)
The thing about extremely down hill though, IT TEARS YOUR FUCKING LEGS APART!
I was running under 8 minute miles for the first 5 miles.
Then it flattened out just enough for my legs to readjust to the newly flattened grade and decide that cramping was a good idea.
I made it to a water station and tried to stretch.
Miles 6-10 were ok I suppose. It was cold. I was tired, sick and drenched in my own sweat but all in all I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Only 3.1 more miles and I was done.
Mile 11 things started pulling awfully wrong. It felt like my knees were rubber bands and someone kept pulling the bands away from my body and then flipping them back.
There's "tired, sore, I just ran 11 miles kind of hurt"..... and then there's "OH MY FUCKING GOD, SHIT'S GOING SOUTH QUICK AND I DON'T HAVE HEALTH INSURANCE AND I'M PRETTY SURE MY KNEES ARE FUCKED AND I'M GOING TO DIE" KIND OF HURT.
It was THAT kind of hurt.
Finally I started seeing people with medals on walking around. My garmin said it was only another half mile to go. I made it across the finish line just in time to get caught in a human sea of cluster fuck. No one was moving. I was stuck shoulder to shoulder, belly to back with random sweaty, strangers.
My personal hell on earth.
It's been 2 weeks since the race and last night was the first night I could actually run for 30 minutes straight with only minimal pain.
Am I glad I did it? Absolutely.
Would I take it back? Never in a million years.
Am I proud of myself? You bet your sweet ass.
Do I want to do it again? No fucking way.
Me either.
But if I had to pick the perfect analogy for how my calves feel, that would be it.
I survived my first half marathon. The first 5 miles were extremely downhill. Which, I thought, OK cool... Curvy girl, momentum, down hill, walk in the park. (Or canyon)
The thing about extremely down hill though, IT TEARS YOUR FUCKING LEGS APART!
I was running under 8 minute miles for the first 5 miles.
Then it flattened out just enough for my legs to readjust to the newly flattened grade and decide that cramping was a good idea.
I made it to a water station and tried to stretch.
Miles 6-10 were ok I suppose. It was cold. I was tired, sick and drenched in my own sweat but all in all I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Only 3.1 more miles and I was done.
Mile 11 things started pulling awfully wrong. It felt like my knees were rubber bands and someone kept pulling the bands away from my body and then flipping them back.
There's "tired, sore, I just ran 11 miles kind of hurt"..... and then there's "OH MY FUCKING GOD, SHIT'S GOING SOUTH QUICK AND I DON'T HAVE HEALTH INSURANCE AND I'M PRETTY SURE MY KNEES ARE FUCKED AND I'M GOING TO DIE" KIND OF HURT.
It was THAT kind of hurt.
Finally I started seeing people with medals on walking around. My garmin said it was only another half mile to go. I made it across the finish line just in time to get caught in a human sea of cluster fuck. No one was moving. I was stuck shoulder to shoulder, belly to back with random sweaty, strangers.
My personal hell on earth.
It's been 2 weeks since the race and last night was the first night I could actually run for 30 minutes straight with only minimal pain.
Am I glad I did it? Absolutely.
Would I take it back? Never in a million years.
Am I proud of myself? You bet your sweet ass.
Do I want to do it again? No fucking way.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
