It's possible Rachael is trying to kill me.
Even though I think zip-lining sounds amazingly fun, it might be a clever plan on the part of Rachael to ensure that I will 1. be off my guard and 2. be standing on a really high platform.
Okay, Rachael's not trying to kill me.* But still. Zip-lining.
The part of my brain that is all about self-preservation to see another day is saying, "Why would you think that was a good idea? What were you ON when you decided this was a good idea?"
And the part of my brain that likes doing awesome stuff is saying, "THIS WILL BE JUST LIKE THE AMAZING RACE AND ALSO IN REAL LIFE!" Because that part of my brain always yells as loudly as possible in order to be heard over the other parts of my brain.
One part of my brain is right. The other parts are mental.**
I will try to take pictures tomorrow during the zip-lining. At the very least, I will try to get Rachael to take a picture of my petrified face before she pushes me off the platform, which I made her promise to do if I try to chicken out.
*Or IS she?
**See what I did there?
Thursday, June 12, 2014
Monday, June 2, 2014
June
This June is brought to you by insanity and overscheduling.
I have so many awesome things to do this month; it is astounding. The problem with that is that I have not a single Saturday free until July, but that's normal, right? Sure it is.
The awesomeness of this month includes:
I have so many awesome things to do this month; it is astounding. The problem with that is that I have not a single Saturday free until July, but that's normal, right? Sure it is.
The awesomeness of this month includes:
- Working the anniversary celebration at my favorite local-ish yarn store
- Flinging myself from a great height repeatedly (otherwise known as zip-lining)
- Going to see Mary Poppins on stage
- Running a 5K
- Rachael's wedding
All of the above takes place on various Saturdays this month except for the zip-lining. That is on a Friday. But still.
On top of all of this, we have the summer reading program at the library and the very end of our LSTA grant paperwork. And all of the training for the 5K. And probably other things that will come up as the month goes on. All this goes by way of saying, if I burst into hysterical tears at any point, it's because there is not enough time, and I need you to call The Doctor so he can give me more.
Saturday, May 24, 2014
Commencement
As of this Thursday, I "graduated" from the Couch to 5K program. I did not get a robe or a funny hat. There was no party. I celebrated by taking a bath because running that long makes you sweaty.
I also did not get to make a commencement speech, because there was no ceremony. That would have been awesome, though. I mean, I have some material for a speech about overcoming adversity and also running. I have some good stuff for that sort of speech.
Instead, I have compiled a list of stuff about running I have discovered. Because reasons.
I also did not get to make a commencement speech, because there was no ceremony. That would have been awesome, though. I mean, I have some material for a speech about overcoming adversity and also running. I have some good stuff for that sort of speech.
Instead, I have compiled a list of stuff about running I have discovered. Because reasons.
- It does not get easier. The app progressed, but I was always just as destroyed at the end. I was sweaty, I felt as though I was going to die, and did I actually die? I can't tell. I'm pretty sure I did, at least for a minute there.
- It gets easier. (See what I did there?) Today I ran with Dad, because he cannot bear to have me out there running without joining in, no matter how painful it is for him. For the record, he ran in a pair of sandals, jeans, and a t-shirt. I did not follow any app, but watched Dad as we ran took walking breaks when I thought he needed it. The resulting walk/run ratio was similar to the beginning of Couch to 5K, only without a lady talking from my iPhone. It was not even slightly strenuous to me. So yeah, maybe it does get better. You just don't notice it until you go on a run with your almost-60-year-old father.
- It makes you tired. This is an understatement. I have never been so tired in my life, except maybe for when I was a kid and Dad took us to the mountains and we climbed up and up and up thinking we were on a circular trail, only to discover, many hours later, that the trail was not a circle at all and that we had to turn around and walk the whole way back. On the way down, there were poisonous snakes.
- It works more than just your legs. Running uses your whole body, and, as a result, you will feel it everywhere the next morning when you try to get out of bed.
- Cotton is the enemy. When you sweat, cotton clothes stick to you. This is unpleasant.
- Shorts are the enemy. Heh. If you are like me, and your inner thighs touch and rub together when you walk, slowly wearing out every pair of jeans you own in an indelicate area, you probably should wear running tights, capris, or spandex instead of those adorable Nike shorts that come in all the pretty colors. Give up on your dignity and buy the skin-tight pants.
- It is possible to run in glasses. I always thought that would be a problem, and it is a bit annoying when you get very sweaty. However, for the most part, you can run in glasses without any difficulty. If it really is awful for you, guess what? There is a special company that makes very sporty looking prescription sunglasses for runners and other athletes. I'm not springing for them, but there you go.
- You will want to convert everyone you know to the glory of Couch to 5K, because it seems so miraculous that you, who never once passed a presidential physical fitness exam, could ever have done it. And if you could manage it, so can everyone else!
- It does things to your body's rhythms. Meaning you can schedule bathroom stops. That's all I'm going to say.
- You start to LIKE running. This is maybe not true while you're actually in the process of running, but after, when you realize how far you ran, how good it feels to have successfully run anywhere at all, you feel like maybe you don't suck. It's a good feeling.
Bonus: I still am not Portuguese. In case you were wondering.
All that being said, I still feel like other runners are judging me and finding me lacking every time I see one on the trail or walk into the running store. I keep telling myself that they're probably as focused on keeping their hearts from exploding as I am while running, but still. That feeling probably won't ever go away.
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
A Story About a Wasp
My app now has me running over 20 minutes without stopping.
I cannot run 20 minutes without stopping. I keep trying. I can make it 11 minutes. Sometimes I can make it 13 minutes. But I cannot run 20 minutes. Or 25, like I was supposed to run today.
It ended up working out just fine, because this morning I took Darcy with me, and she was not at all interested in running. She wanted to sit on the ground and watch me run, resulting in my running away from her. Then I had to stop and coax her to join me. And I'd run again, and we would repeat the process. Darcy is not used to going out and running at 8:00 AM. She is used to walking around with Mum and being able to sniff everything. It is a leisure walk. More of a stroll than anything.
Poor Darcy. It was even misting, meaning she was getting wet, and she hates being wet.
By the time I was halfway done, I was exhausted, but Darcy was so happy to be going home that she finally decided to run without any begging or pleading. She used her Shetland Sheepdog herding skills to get me home. It was probably good that she did, as I was dying by then.
It's a good thing that I'm about two weeks ahead of where I SHOULD be. That makes it okay that I'm not running 20 straight minutes. But I can't help but worry that I WON'T do any better, and that on race day I'll be gasping my way along, then stopping to walk for the second half. It would be just like the president's physical fitness tests we used to have to take in gym class, only with me all grown up and with more asthma. There will be just as many people staring at me, so I'll get that added humiliation and possible flashbacks.
The last time I ran a mile with people watching, I had been stretching in gym and had no idea I would soon be subject to such torment. I felt a slight tickle on my arm and, thinking it was a strand of my own hair, I brushed it away. Except it was not a hair, it was a wasp.
The wasp, believing I was about to murder it, stung me as my hand approached. When I touched the wasp half a second later (discovering as I did so that the stabby thing was a giant angry wasp), it became lodged in my arm like an insectoid hypodermic needle.
Did I mention it was in the crook of my elbow, right where they always draw blood at the doctor's office? It was there.
One of my fellow students had to remove the wasp for me, as it was stuck and its attempts to walk away or fly were resulting in nothing. Meanwhile, it was still mid-sting, with more and more wasp venom entering what could only have been my veins, since all my blood vessels are right at the surface and easily accessible to wasps and medical staff alike.
The wasp, once freed, flew away. It was probably out of venom by then. It did not come back, meaning it was probably as traumatized as I was after the whole experience.
My arm began to blow up like a balloon.
As I wondered if this counted as an excuse to go to the nurse's office, our teacher led us out of the gym for...the track. Yes, we were running a mile that day. For the stupid fitness test they made us do every year. Spoiler alert: None of us were ever fit.
I asked the teacher if I could go to the nurse's office. He said no. So as I walked out of the building toward the track, I noticed a room I'd never seen before. It was unmarked, and it contained a washing machine, a dryer, and a big ice machine like they have at hotels. This was the best thing I'd ever seen up to that point.
I ducked into the room, grabbed a paper towel from the holder above the ice chest, wrapped a handful of ice up in the paper towling, and went back to join my class.
holding the ice to my arm, I stepped into the hallway again, only to be turned on by the teacher at once. "WHAT WERE YOU DOING IN THE BOY'S VARSITY LOCKER ROOM?!" He bellowed.
"That's the boy's locker room?" I asked. "I was getting ice!"
"Oh." He replied, mollified. "Come on then."
And then I ran a mile while I felt progressively sicker. My forearm was the size of my thigh by the time I was finished. I ran the whole mile clutching the rapidly-melting ice to the spot where I'd been stung.
When I finished (I think at 12-14 minutes), I walked over to where the class was waiting for me and the other two asthmatic runners. I may not have known I had asthma then, but my pace matched the other asthmatics. Tell me that's not a clue.
The teacher wrote down my time and then noticed my arm, which, I reiterate, was THE SIZE OF MY THIGH.
"What is wrong with your arm?" My teacher asked.
"A wasp got stuck in it. It was in there for two minutes or so. And now I have a balloon arm. It feels like fire and my heartbeat."
I was sent to the nurse's office at once. Only, the nurse had already left for the day, as she was only in the school until noon or so. She had also left the elementary school and gone home. She was really, really gone. The secretary, who was also my drama coach, was freaked. But the buses were also leaving, so I was given more ice and strict instructions to make a baking soda poultice of some kind to pack over the sting-mark.
And then I went home. That was the last official mile-time I have on record.
Who had this great idea to sign up for a 5K anyway? Was it me? I don't think I would have done anything that foolish.
Moral support would be greatly appreciated. Either that or chocolate. Or maybe mozzarella sticks. Also wasp repellent, if you have any.
I cannot run 20 minutes without stopping. I keep trying. I can make it 11 minutes. Sometimes I can make it 13 minutes. But I cannot run 20 minutes. Or 25, like I was supposed to run today.
It ended up working out just fine, because this morning I took Darcy with me, and she was not at all interested in running. She wanted to sit on the ground and watch me run, resulting in my running away from her. Then I had to stop and coax her to join me. And I'd run again, and we would repeat the process. Darcy is not used to going out and running at 8:00 AM. She is used to walking around with Mum and being able to sniff everything. It is a leisure walk. More of a stroll than anything.
Poor Darcy. It was even misting, meaning she was getting wet, and she hates being wet.
By the time I was halfway done, I was exhausted, but Darcy was so happy to be going home that she finally decided to run without any begging or pleading. She used her Shetland Sheepdog herding skills to get me home. It was probably good that she did, as I was dying by then.
It's a good thing that I'm about two weeks ahead of where I SHOULD be. That makes it okay that I'm not running 20 straight minutes. But I can't help but worry that I WON'T do any better, and that on race day I'll be gasping my way along, then stopping to walk for the second half. It would be just like the president's physical fitness tests we used to have to take in gym class, only with me all grown up and with more asthma. There will be just as many people staring at me, so I'll get that added humiliation and possible flashbacks.
The last time I ran a mile with people watching, I had been stretching in gym and had no idea I would soon be subject to such torment. I felt a slight tickle on my arm and, thinking it was a strand of my own hair, I brushed it away. Except it was not a hair, it was a wasp.
The wasp, believing I was about to murder it, stung me as my hand approached. When I touched the wasp half a second later (discovering as I did so that the stabby thing was a giant angry wasp), it became lodged in my arm like an insectoid hypodermic needle.
Did I mention it was in the crook of my elbow, right where they always draw blood at the doctor's office? It was there.
One of my fellow students had to remove the wasp for me, as it was stuck and its attempts to walk away or fly were resulting in nothing. Meanwhile, it was still mid-sting, with more and more wasp venom entering what could only have been my veins, since all my blood vessels are right at the surface and easily accessible to wasps and medical staff alike.
The wasp, once freed, flew away. It was probably out of venom by then. It did not come back, meaning it was probably as traumatized as I was after the whole experience.
My arm began to blow up like a balloon.
As I wondered if this counted as an excuse to go to the nurse's office, our teacher led us out of the gym for...the track. Yes, we were running a mile that day. For the stupid fitness test they made us do every year. Spoiler alert: None of us were ever fit.
I asked the teacher if I could go to the nurse's office. He said no. So as I walked out of the building toward the track, I noticed a room I'd never seen before. It was unmarked, and it contained a washing machine, a dryer, and a big ice machine like they have at hotels. This was the best thing I'd ever seen up to that point.
I ducked into the room, grabbed a paper towel from the holder above the ice chest, wrapped a handful of ice up in the paper towling, and went back to join my class.
holding the ice to my arm, I stepped into the hallway again, only to be turned on by the teacher at once. "WHAT WERE YOU DOING IN THE BOY'S VARSITY LOCKER ROOM?!" He bellowed.
"That's the boy's locker room?" I asked. "I was getting ice!"
"Oh." He replied, mollified. "Come on then."
And then I ran a mile while I felt progressively sicker. My forearm was the size of my thigh by the time I was finished. I ran the whole mile clutching the rapidly-melting ice to the spot where I'd been stung.
When I finished (I think at 12-14 minutes), I walked over to where the class was waiting for me and the other two asthmatic runners. I may not have known I had asthma then, but my pace matched the other asthmatics. Tell me that's not a clue.
The teacher wrote down my time and then noticed my arm, which, I reiterate, was THE SIZE OF MY THIGH.
"What is wrong with your arm?" My teacher asked.
"A wasp got stuck in it. It was in there for two minutes or so. And now I have a balloon arm. It feels like fire and my heartbeat."
I was sent to the nurse's office at once. Only, the nurse had already left for the day, as she was only in the school until noon or so. She had also left the elementary school and gone home. She was really, really gone. The secretary, who was also my drama coach, was freaked. But the buses were also leaving, so I was given more ice and strict instructions to make a baking soda poultice of some kind to pack over the sting-mark.
And then I went home. That was the last official mile-time I have on record.
Who had this great idea to sign up for a 5K anyway? Was it me? I don't think I would have done anything that foolish.
Moral support would be greatly appreciated. Either that or chocolate. Or maybe mozzarella sticks. Also wasp repellent, if you have any.
Monday, May 12, 2014
Misery
Jennifer and I went for our run after I finished at the library for the day. This run quite nearly killed me. I was dying, and I had run that distance before. I had run for MORE TIME than the app was asking me to run, and I had done all of it much happier than I did today.
I felt as though I was being murdered.
Jennifer could have left me in the dust, despite the fact that she only runs with me and this is our third run. It is my 18th. Jennifer claims this toughness was brought to her by 5 Hour Energy Drink, but I think it's because she is just plain better at doing all of the things than I am.
What did it was the heat and humidity. I am notorious in my family for being unable to handle drastic changes in temperature. And Indiana has gone from being in the low 60s to the high 80s in less than a week. It's shocking we haven't had terrifying weather. All we had was a thunderstorm and flash flooding. That's nothing. We can handle that. That's like a light breeze is for other places.
Also, someone almost destroyed my car by speeding down a hill on a one-lane road as I went under the one-lane bridge. I was DEEPLY ANGRY. Nobody messes with Francis Focus. He is a happy car and doesn't need his nose bashed in.
I arrived home and cleaned up, ate applesauce for dinner, and haven't moved since. Well, I did play with Darcy. But who could say no to this face?
I felt as though I was being murdered.
Jennifer could have left me in the dust, despite the fact that she only runs with me and this is our third run. It is my 18th. Jennifer claims this toughness was brought to her by 5 Hour Energy Drink, but I think it's because she is just plain better at doing all of the things than I am.
What did it was the heat and humidity. I am notorious in my family for being unable to handle drastic changes in temperature. And Indiana has gone from being in the low 60s to the high 80s in less than a week. It's shocking we haven't had terrifying weather. All we had was a thunderstorm and flash flooding. That's nothing. We can handle that. That's like a light breeze is for other places.
Also, someone almost destroyed my car by speeding down a hill on a one-lane road as I went under the one-lane bridge. I was DEEPLY ANGRY. Nobody messes with Francis Focus. He is a happy car and doesn't need his nose bashed in.
I arrived home and cleaned up, ate applesauce for dinner, and haven't moved since. Well, I did play with Darcy. But who could say no to this face?
Heat, Humidity, and Couch to 5K
Right now it is 80 degrees.
At 5:00, it will be 82 degrees.
Right now the humidity is at 68%.
At 5:00, it will drop to a low low 59%.
Jennifer and I are running at 5:00. At 5:00 it will be 82 degrees and the humidity will be 59%. I'm repeating that so that it will really sink in and you'll understand just how horrible that's going to be.
If you don't hear from us, it's because the heat and humidity killed us. We dropped dead in the park. Sorry.
Meanwhile, as I was looking for the heat and humidity e-card because I need illustrations to make my life funnier, I found this, which made me think of You-Are-Portuguese Guy, because I was running by with earbuds and he still thought telling me I have Portuguese eyebrows was a good idea.
And then I saw this and started laughing so hard, library patrons began staring at me, because while I have yet to see anyone attractive during a run (usually I see squirrels), I can pretty much guarantee if I do, I will run away as quickly as possible. I mean, if I run away in the grocery store when I am walking through the produce section with a cart, why would my behavior change if I am already running?
At 5:00, it will be 82 degrees.
Right now the humidity is at 68%.
At 5:00, it will drop to a low low 59%.
Jennifer and I are running at 5:00. At 5:00 it will be 82 degrees and the humidity will be 59%. I'm repeating that so that it will really sink in and you'll understand just how horrible that's going to be.
If you don't hear from us, it's because the heat and humidity killed us. We dropped dead in the park. Sorry.
Meanwhile, as I was looking for the heat and humidity e-card because I need illustrations to make my life funnier, I found this, which made me think of You-Are-Portuguese Guy, because I was running by with earbuds and he still thought telling me I have Portuguese eyebrows was a good idea.
And this will be Jennifer and I after our run this afternoon. I mean, we won't become a cardboard sign, but we will agree with the content of the sign. You understand.
And then I saw this and started laughing so hard, library patrons began staring at me, because while I have yet to see anyone attractive during a run (usually I see squirrels), I can pretty much guarantee if I do, I will run away as quickly as possible. I mean, if I run away in the grocery store when I am walking through the produce section with a cart, why would my behavior change if I am already running?
Now, maybe by "pick up the pace" they mean run faster to impress the attractive person, but I am too awkward to think of it that way. In my world, the bottom of the picture just says "Flee."
Sunday, May 11, 2014
In Which I Excel at Avoidance
Today I went for a run at Murder Trail, and I saw a familiar truck at the trailhead.
The truck belongs to Mr. You-Are-Portuguese, and I spent the remainder of the run watching for people on the trail that looked 1. Male and 2. 60-ish. Younger males, females, families, bicyclists, runners, and other people who did not match Mr. You-Are-Portuguese's build were ignored and passed on the trail as per usual.
I did actually see him, but I was prepared. I turned around and ran in the opposite direction, then went back and forth between the trailhead and Mum and Darcy. No one has time to put up with that guy, especially not when the humidity is as high as it was today and when tiny gnats are hovering in clouds at eye-level everywhere.
I ate a gnat. It was not on purpose.
Photographic evidence of Mr. You-Are-Portuguese's truck, so you guys don't think I'm making this up. I wish I were making this up:
The truck belongs to Mr. You-Are-Portuguese, and I spent the remainder of the run watching for people on the trail that looked 1. Male and 2. 60-ish. Younger males, females, families, bicyclists, runners, and other people who did not match Mr. You-Are-Portuguese's build were ignored and passed on the trail as per usual.
I did actually see him, but I was prepared. I turned around and ran in the opposite direction, then went back and forth between the trailhead and Mum and Darcy. No one has time to put up with that guy, especially not when the humidity is as high as it was today and when tiny gnats are hovering in clouds at eye-level everywhere.
I ate a gnat. It was not on purpose.
Photographic evidence of Mr. You-Are-Portuguese's truck, so you guys don't think I'm making this up. I wish I were making this up:
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