Impossible is a typoRunning my pants off and loving myself along the way

At Dinner the other night with BUSINESS contacts…

Being introduced to the VICE PRESIDENT of something…

“This is Amy, she wrote that sex and running post…”

“Oh yeah, Fifty Shades of Running! I loved that post!”

Well, gee, that’s just precious. I am now known as the Blogger That Wrote That Sex Post.

For god sakes, I can’t be the only one that thinks about sex while running, can I?

I mean, half the country apparently is all fired up about Fifty Shades of Grey, the Today show is even talking about a “Fifty Shades Baby Boom”.

Prepare for a Fifty Shades of Rant Sidebar

For the love of all that is literary and holy, do not read Fifty Shades of Grey. First, it’s FAN fiction based on Twilight. TWILIGHT. Twilight has to be one of the worst bits of written fluff ever to masquerade as “Young Adult Fiction” as all it illustrates is that a young women will throw themselves off cliffs if they don’t have a man in their lives and the consequence of sex is death. Second, Fifty Shades is as poorly written as Twilight. Third, OMG the sex gets boring. Fourth, OMG really? A 27 year old foster kid reject becomes a billionaire, meets, courts, woos, gets obsessed with, marries and knocks up a virtual teenager? Great, now you just created yet another impossible to achieve romance standard that normal people will never live up to. Fifth, just because you like to get spicy in the bedroom DOES NOT mean you are mentally ill. Six, for god sakes when will women stop believing that they can change the men in their lives. I know many a fag hag who learned the hard way that you cannot turn your best friend straight just because you are secretly in love with them. Seven, oh wait, this is a running blog not a blog to rant about the impossible stereotypes that bad fiction have us believe is possible (you should hear my rant on porn, but alas, that is another post).

Anyway… sex while running. I can’t possibly be the only person who thinks about sex while running, can I? Maybe I’m the only one who openly admits it. I know, I know, fantasizing about sex is in the realm of “GUYS” and not a polite thing for a woman to admit to. But there comes a moment sometimes when you’re out running and the endorphins are popping about and you are hyper aware of what your body is doing. Each breath is big and real. You can feel your hips moving in their sockets, gravity pulling down at you, your legs pushing your forward, your clothes against your body. And it’s in that kind of moment that you can love and appreciate what your body can do, regardless of its size and shape. And Oh c’mon now, duh, you think about sex right?? OK, maybe it is just me, and maybe I just need to get laid.

So, apparently there are sex scandals in the running world too. Go figure. The story broke last week that three-time Olympic mid-distance runner, Suzy Favor Hamilton, was doing a little moon lighting as a high-priced call girl in Vegas. Sheesh, I only use naughty sex thoughts as a motivational tool. Apparently I’m doing it wrong.

I really don’t have an opinion on this being bad, wrong or “OMG how could you put your family and career at risk”. It’s not my life and I have long been in favor of legalizing and regulating prostitution, but at the end of the day, hey, it’s not my life, I don’t judge.

What I do find, I don’t know, amusing? A wee bit distressful? is that Suzy coupled her running appearances with visiting “clients”. The Smoking Gun reports she would book at $600 an hours so it’s not like she was hurting for cash. Now, everyone now and again piggybacks “pleasure” on to business trips, (OMG MOM not THAT kind of pleasure, sheesh), but writing off legitimate business expenses while engaging in illegal activities is just a little tacky dontcha think?

Ginger Snap Runs

Biz Partner: Hey, we have 4 hours before our flight… Let’s go for a run.

And FatGirl says:

What are you, freakin’ insane? I’m not running with you! You coached track in college. You free climb 50 foot cliffs BEFORE BREAKFAST. You train with the freakin’ Navy Seals.

Getting Dirty with the Navy Seals

There’s no way I’m running with you. You’re all svelte and skinny, leaping around like a gazelle. I bet you run so fast, you’d be a blur on camera with you spunky little pony tail swish-swishing.

So fast she's a blur

I’ll look all fat and slow. I’m totally out of shape. I am so not running with you.

Amy: Yeah, ok, a run sounds like fun.

First Annual FatGirl Birthday 5K

I turned 39 today. My Crazy Inner FatGirl has been running around like a lunatic these past few months. I woke up this morning to waffles and bacon, which was delicious, but then I realized, if I’m working today on my heath and fitness goal, when? If not now, when?

So I ran the First Annual FatGirl 5K. Participants = 1. And it was awesome.

So I make the proclamation that I’m going to run every day in 2012.

And that’s an awesome idea, in theory, until New Year’s Day rolls around after a New Year’s Eve full of single malt whiskey and champagne.

I actually manage to get on running clothes and head out on the semi-rural streets near my friends house in Massachusetts. Yeah, that’s right, I’m bad. I run on New Year’s Day. Screw you hang over!

You pretty much know this isn’t going to be a happy story right?

You see that wee little hill in the distance?

Running is a metaphor for everything in my life, because, you know, I have to analyze and process everything. That’s how I roll. And this isn’t even a battle with the Crazy Fat Girl that lives in my head. I knew this run wouldn’t bust any Personal Records or anything but I didn’t actually expect to be crying and throwing up by the end of it. That wee little hill undid me. I’m pushing up the hill and struggling on this run like I haven’t struggled in a long time. I’m out of breath, I’m feeling the extra weight I’ve put on. I profoundly get connected all the things I didn’t succeed with in 2011 – Smoking, weight gain, eating McDonalds, relationships, finances, you know all that crap that you declare in the bravado of New Year’s day that you’re going to conquer and take on in those “Dear Diary” missives you pen to your self – “Ha HA! This year is going to be different and I freaking rock!”.

That’s what I did New Year’s Day 2011. And here I am one year later, fighting up this nothing little hill. The year’s worth of decisions I made under the guise of convenience close in on me as I hit that hill. Each foot fall sinks me further into all the bad and wrong things of 2011, it’s like running at the bottom of a ocean with a billion pounds of pressure of all my broken promises and lies to myself pushing down on me. 50 meters to the top of that little hill, I break stride and throw up when I realize I sold out on myself in 2011. Now, I didn’t exactly throw up because of this realization, it’s more like the whisky and dehydration finally decided to own the show, but hey, running is a metaphor for my life and it was just freaking perfect to be puking when I realize that if I was dating me, I’d break up with me because I can’t be trusted to follow through and fulfill upon my commitments. I sold out on myself and the promises I made. Jobs and making money, and my company and my projects and hell, stupid knitting projects came before my commitment to myself. I couldn’t find the time to run, or go to the gym or cook good food because I had to answer an email or return a phone call or damnit, I worked hard today so I deserve to kill zombies in a game for a bit.

So there I am, throwing up on the almost-top of this stupid hill realizing I didn’t do any of the things I wanted to in 2011. It then occurs to me that I now have a choice. I can choose to wallow in puke and woe-is-me, or I can literally purge all that out of my system. See that metaphor thingie there. I can choose to be my word and be my commitments. I can choose to have 2012 be exactly what I want. I can choose to walk the rest of the way up that hill, hit the reset button on my life, and I can make that choice at any moment. Commitment is nothing more than choosing what you’re committed to over and over and over.

And today I choose me

It's beginning to look a lot like Easter?

Sometimes, I run to 7-11 to get coffee. Meaning I run 2 miles or so and oops, I happen to find myself at 7-11. Oh gee, might as well get coffee.

On Christmas Eve, I took a quick sprint, you know, to be all healthy like. OK, fine. I wanted a cup of coffee. I ran for coffee. Sue me.  I breeze into 7-11 all bundled up like Ralphie from the Christmas Story (my abhorrence of the cold and how that effects my running is another post alas), and my crazy inner Fat Girl damn near stampeded the poor folks getting snacks and convenience items when she spied this display.

You see, Fat Girl’s most favorite treat on this earth is Reese’s Peanut Butter holiday candies. Those magical heart and Jack-o-latnern shapes have the absolutle perfect ratio of chocolate to peanut butter. And the illusion that they are only available for a limited time makes the doubly irresistible. You must eat as many peanut butter chocolate Christmas trees as physically possible before they’re gone and you have to wait an entire year before you’ll see them again! I mean really, if you don’t get ‘em now, they’ll be GONE!

Thankfully calmer voices in my head prevailed and I was able to break Fat Girls hold on my psyche and communicate that Easter candy on Christmas Eve is… Just. Plain. WRONG.

OK, Fine. I didn’t get my absolute favorite treat on this earth because I only had $2 on me and coffee is almost always more important than chocolate.

But it is still a major WTF moment – What the hell is Easter Candy doing in 7-11 on Christmas Eve? Did I fall in a worm hole and transport myself to spring already?

1001 Reasons not to run

And FatGirl says:

I have too much work to do. I can’t run.

I just ate lunch. I can’t run.

It’s cold out. I can’t run.

I can’t find my socks. I can’t run.

OMG! What are you nuts? Look at the weather! I SIMPLY WILL NOT RUN IN THAT!!

I’m sitting at my desk listing all the reasons I shouldn’t go for a run. The murky mess that is out side being hitting the top of the list. I have back to back conference calls and only 45 minutes in between. Surely, not enough time to run. My list got longer and longer and longer.

Then my Inner FitGirl started chiming in.

You work from home so that you can run.

It’s not going to rain so you can run.

It’s 50 degrees, not cold at all to run.

No one is going to notice if your socks don’t match on your run.

And I realized, FitGirl was right. I can run. And run I did. Through the fog and muck…

Even the boats are festive

FitGirl: I think we should go for a run.

FatGirl: What? I just poured myself coffee. It’s all hot and delicious. I ani’t going nowhere.

FitGirl: You can make the coffee hot again. There’s a magical device called a Microwave.

FatGirl: Nope. Got too much work to do. There’s email to read. Facbook games to play.

FitGirl: Tough luck. We’re going now

FatGirl: Over my dead body.

FitGirl: That may very well be the case…

So I went for a run for the first time in, oh about 2 months. I’ve been sick and busy and have totally used that as an excuse to be lazy and eat ice cream. Yay, I’ve won the game of gaining 15lbs. Gold stars for me. I’m really ok with having put on some weight. Well, that’s not accurate. I’m a little angry, frustrated and embarrassed about it. But what I’m not doing is beating myself up over it. I’m not all woe is me how could this have happened. I have the weight gain because I took the action that lead to it. Pretty plain and simple. And I know what to do to take that weight off and get back to my commitment to being healthy and running and achieving a healthy weight.

So as the neighborhood decks its halls, I’m be hitting the pavement and celebrating the holidays with a new pair of sneakers.

FatGirl Rant:
You’ve got to be freakin kidding me! A half marathon?? What the hell did you register us for a half marathon for? Don’t you realize that’s 13 miles. Wait no, it is THIRTEEN POINT ONE MILES. Point ONE for god sakes. Do you know how much work will have to go into that. When the hell are we going to have time for that? Hm? Missy answer that. We have a long commute, a new job, this stupid class, we don’t have time for this nonsense. And I am so not waking up at the crack of dawn to go running or hit the gym. That’s stupid. THIRTEEN POINT ONE MILES. That is the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard.

Yup. Fat Girl is running a half marathon.