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

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

Apparently, I was unaware that people shop for gifts, like well in advanced of the holiday in question. Who knew!? I thought gifts could only be purchased a day or two before said holiday! I’ve gotten a bunch of pointed emails requesting ideas for holiday gifts. I thought I had better devote some time to thinking about this before those pointed emails become poison tipped.

Christmas morning in footie jammies

For 30 plus years, my mom has carried on the tradition that you must turn in your letter to Santa or risk “No gifts for you!” on Christmas morning. Yes, I get that I’m an adult, but we like to keep the woman happy. My sister and I have been known to get creative (mom would say “snarky”) with letters to Santa. One year, when I was job hunting, I crafted a letter as if it was a resume cover letter. We’ve sent them in secret code that she had to figure out. We’ve cut letters out of magazines and created ransom-note-styled letters and yes, we’ve done plain ole lists. Somehow a pony always gets on my sisters list and to this day, the pony is still on back order, or so Santa’s elves report. Since I’m all about the social media, I figured Santa can log on and read a blog post.

I love giving gifts, not crazy about receiving them. My Crazy Inner Fat Girls immediately goes to cup cake pans and Godiva Chocolate. Cooking gear is always safe. It’s not like you have try on a bunt pan in front of the giver like you would with a sweater or something. It sends my Inner FatGirl into panic attack mode just thinking about getting an article of clothing as a gift. You can’t win giving a fat girl clothes, it’s never a fairly tale “just right”. If its too small, you risk embarrassment at having to return the item. If its too large then your brain goes “OMG do you really think I’m THAT fat??” I always play it safe and ask for electronics, books and cooking gear. But this year, I’m in a quandary. In all honesty, I have all the cooking gear I need, and I’d only be looking at the frivilous things like a pig-in-a-blanket maker which would be awesome, don’t get me wrong, but not necessary.

I’ve got some things brewing, that I’m not ready to talk about on the blog yet, but to prep for that and to get into the spirit of what I want to create in my life, I’m going with an all fitness gear Santa List.

iPod Nano

I have a first generation iPod Nano and that sucker has served me well. I got my Nano for free when opening a bank account. It was the tool that got me off the couch and running way back when. But it is time to update it. The new 6th generation Nanos have Nike+ functionality built right in. They’re tiny and cute and clip on to what you’re wearing. Brilliant.

Polar Wear Link Heart Rate Monitor for Nike+

I have a Timex Heart Rate Monitor and it’s great and I love it but I feel like a spy going out for runs with my iPod strapped to one arm, BodyBugg on the other, my phone with RunKeeper going, my heart rate monitor and two watches (one for the BodyBugg, one for the heart rate monitor). So it would be nice to condense all the gear down.

Nike Gift Card for Sneakers

I’m not really brand loyal to Nike footware. But I am loyal to the Nike+ running system. I like tracking my runs and seeing my progress on Nike Running. With the new Nano, having the sensor in your shoe is not necessary but I’ve been wearing Nike for a while now, why change?

Workout Clothes

Yes yes, I know I JUST said, don’t by a fat girl clothes. But FIT GIRL needs some gear. Cold weather running pants and jackets. Maybe a weather/wind proof jacket. Yoga pants and tech fabric tops. And socks. Apparently I can never have enough socks.

I am, apparently, a lunatic. Or that’s what my inner Fat Girl was trying to tell me as I was leaving the house shortly after 5am to run. ON A SUNDAY.

Sunday’s are meant for breakfast in bed, doing the crossword puzzle and staying in your jammies for as long as possible.

Unfortunately, I long ago lost the concept of what Sunday’s are supposed to be about. I’ve been working Sunday’s for a really long time. When you work weekends, you sort of lose how special weekends can be. For me, its just another work day with lots to get done.

Also, my mother, in her infinite wisdom declared that Sunday Mornings would he Weight Watcher days. So regardless of work, I’d be up at 7:30am to face the scale.

Today is the last Sunday I have to work. I’m rather not excited about that as I seemed to have filled the next six Sundays with other stuff, so I’ll have to wait till fall to experience that lounging about in your jammies kind of day.

5am. God it’s early. It’s just me and the moon, the birds aren’t even singing yet. Adelle’s Rolling in the Deep in my ears.

There’s a fire starting in my heart

My right quad is tightening. No biggie, just run through it.

Reaching a fevered pitch and it’s bringing me out the dark.

Sun’s up now. Pink skies. Chirp chirp.

Finally, I can see you crystal clear,

Left quad is tightening up too.

Go ahead and sell me out and I’ll lay your ship bare

Walk for a minute, stretch it out.

See how I’ll leave with every piece of you,

One foot in front of the other.

Don’t underestimate the things that I will do.

Great, now my butt too? Almost home.

Good job.

Apparently, in the North East this week, we’ve opened a portal to Hell itself and we’re channeling their weather. We’ve had heat indexes in the triple digits and the heat radiating up from the pavement cause Marilyn Monroe like moments with your skirt fluttering up. Yah for Spanx! That’s all I’m gonna say on the matter.

So it’s Sunday, my “long run” day, and Weight Watcher day. I took off for my 4 miles before it gets too toasty. I felt slow, like I’d entered a snail marathon. Kind of like running through glue. My body was slow, my pace felt slow, and even my music felt slow.

But run was done, and a quick change to get to Weight Watcher where I was greeted with a 3lb gain. I stayed in my points range, dipping into those extra 49 weekly points pretty hard. I had garlic knots and french fries and everything else was solid.

So, what’s so? I ate salty french fries. I had way too many carbs and not enough protein. I have my period and it’s the first time I ever really was aware of feeling bloated. There was one moment where I actually felt myself expand, my clothes got tighter in a matter of moments and I had to take my ring off. It was a really strange feeling.

So the reality is I gained weight. Could be the carbs, could be the heat, could be the salt, could be my ovaries.

Lesson learned – don’t eat salt during “that time of the month”.

I’m starting a new trend… drum roll… May I present… Running Jammies!!

Yeah, that’s right, I slept in my running gear last night. Capri yoga pants, red sports bra, pink short sleeve top but not my socks or shoes. Those were right next to my bed with my iPod. I figure at 5am if I don’t have to worry about finding my gear to put on… if I ALREADY have it on, that will shave a few minutes off my morning and help this 5am running thing work. So All hail Running Jammies!

My life recently expanded. New job, new commute, an evening class, meeting with a client one night a week, and you know, trying to have a social life and stuff. And then of course that’s exactly when I decide to take on training for a half marathon. Noooooo, I couldn’t do a half when I was working part time and had no life! Of course not. I have to be super complicated. Obviously, out of the millions of people who train for endurance sports, or any sport really, contend with real lives that are real busy and they successfully complete there events, so intellectually I know that it is not IMPOSSIBLE.

But I’ve really had it in my head that it is IMPOSSIBLE for me to wake up at 5am or earlier and work out. I’ve tired before with every good intention but somehow my crazy inner Fat Girl always won the Snooze Button Battle and I’d end up sleeping in.

Well now, I came to a moment of choice. There are things in my life I want. I want to work in NYC. I want to not be broke. I want to participate in this class. And I want to run a half marathon. Oh yeah, and its become crystal clear to me that I cannot function on less than 7 hours of sleep a night. I could sacrifice one of those things and have an easy life.

OR

I can make it possible to have it all. This is a blog about making the impossible possible after all. So the way to have it all is to get super intentional about life. And live it exactly how it needs to be lived. And that means getting up at 5am and running twice a week. That means making bold requests of friends, family and colleagues that we meet later and in a location where I can show up sweaty from the gym. That means standing up and saying “I need to be on this train so I can get 7 hours of sleep”.

And what makes all of this possible is that I have found and cultivated a deep commitment to myself and living an awesome life and I am no longer willing to settle for less. And if that means 5am runs, I’m going to make that possible.

Oh crap, my 15 mins of blog time is up. There’s oatmeal to eat! A train to catch! LIFE TO LIVE!

A longer post is coming, but I wanted to get this up before my day gets going. Here is my first “long” half marathon training run. 4 miles and I’m on my way! Tons of thoughts running thru my head like “Man, I have to get faster” and “Holy crap, I ran 4 miles” and “Boy, my Nike+ is way off.” More on all that later. Happy running people!

Oh yeah, and I lost 4 lbs at Weight Watchers today. A good start to a good day.

Sex While Running

Yeah, that’s right. I’m going there because that’s how I roll.

Mom, Dad, assorted family members, sisters of St. Dominic, and those under 18, please stop reading right now because it is only going to a) make you blush b) send me to hell c) provide the juice for long silences at the next family reunion.

So I’m out on a 3 mile run. Shouldn’t be too hard right? But today for some reason, I am struggling. Just over a mile to go and every thing is telling me to take the shortcut home or to walk the rest of the way. Fat Girl is screaming “Dear God. Stop the Ride. I wanna get off! I wanna go home!”

Fit Girl is even getting a little condescending patting me on the mental shoulder saying “It’s OK if you want to walk.”

Screw that man! I’m a runner and I’m gonna run!

Like a Running Ninja, I start whipping out every tip and trick and mental weapon tucked in the pockets of my ninja jammies.

Tactic 1: Release the Dory!! I sing “just keep swimming” ala Dory from Finding Nemo in my head over and over and over. It’s rhythmic, I can match foot strikes to the beat and it’s bound to make me smile.

FAILURE

Tactic 2: Open a can of Zen whoopass from ChiRunning. Get into your body. Lean into your run. Watch your breath. Inhale 2 steps. Exhale 3. Inhale. Exhale. In. Ex.

BORING! FAIL!!!

Tactic 47B: Bust a move on Lady Gaga. If you can’t get your mojo going to “Bad Romance” there’s something seriously wrong.

Crap.

There’s something seriously wrong, because even the Gaga can’t get me going.

The mental weapon of last resort – THE SEX.

I’ve got a mile to go and there’s nothing else to do but distract myself for the next 13 minutes than a steamy sex fantasy. Yeah, that’s right, I think about sex while running.

Sometimes it’s the outlandish campy classics, like “Oh Professor, is there any way I can get extra credit? I really need to pass your class”

Sometimes I’ll focus on someone I met in passing at  the guy on the train with the purple tie and the really big feet. Please feel free to leave your own raunchy Big Foot comment.

Sometimes it’s a little risque like that young NYPD beat cop I met a few months ago all young, and fresh and fit. NY’s Finest do come complete with their own handcuffs you know. Just sayin’.

And sometimes, I construct the phantom image of the most perfect man. Tall, educated, creative, powerful, well traveled, with eyes so blue it’s like a tsunami washing through you. He’s a runner too, natch. We’re out on a run through the countryside, racing across a field of wild flowers. He let’s me win, natch, cause he’s just that kind of guy, natch. Congratulatory kiss turns into frisky business which turns into nakedness. (I always fast forward through the getting naked part because no matter how you play it, getting out of a sweaty sports bra is just not sexy and hey, it’s my fantasy right? I can magic the sweaty clothes away like Hermonie in my own private Naughty Harry Potter. Speaking of – Naughty HP Triva Break – The character Oliver Wood was played by Sean Biggerstaff. Get it. Wood is a Biggerstaff.)

Wait, what? Where was I? See what I mean, thinking about the sex even distracted me from my own post, that last mile just flew by! And the cold shower I took when I got home was fantastic.

I’m very much looking forward to chopping some bunny ears today. I don’t really like to get into the headspace of earning chocolate with exercise. But that lil bunny will taste more delicious coupled with tired muscles.