A dog smelling its own ass

After my run on Tuesday morning, I walked down to Adam’s office to say good morning and chat for a little while.

Me:  Hi hon, I’m home.

Adam:  How was your run?

Me:  Good (my nose now up in the air sniffing around).

Adam:  What…do you smell something?  I really can’t smell anything, which is one reason Adam and I get along so well.

Me:  Yeah, it smells like something died down here.

Adam:  Really, like what?

Me:  I don’t know, but it stinks.

Adam:  Is it you?

Me:  NO!  It’s not me.

10 minutes later, Adam comes up to the kitchen after finishing his work.

Me:  Hey, I figured it out.

Adam:  You figured out what stinks?

Me:  Yeah, you’re right…IT’S TOTALLY ME!

Training mind games

I’ve hit the point in my training where speed and endurance collide.

It is this week where the speed workout, or “intensive” workouts as my training plan calls them, gain distance beyond a little 60 second clip. You ask your body to continue in full throddle the entire prescribed time, to then only allow it a few precious moments rest until you start it all over again 4 or 5 or 6 times.

It is during the past two days, while biking and while swimming, I have hit “something” during the third round in each of these intensive trainings. This “something” is a complete falling apart of everything I have, physically and mentally. It’s the point in time where my body is telling me to STOP and stop now, give up, sleep, cry anything but continue on. It’s at this point where everything breaks down, my body, my breathing, my consentration.

It’s right THERE, there is where you must bitch slap yourself into regaining control. THERE is the precise moment, if you continue, you get stronger.

I hate that moment.

And on some really sick and sadistic level…I love it too…but only when it’s over.

Mathematically challenged

Here’s the deal…when it comes to math, I ain’t so bright.

I realized last night, when I got woken up by some random two year old and then couldn’t get back to sleep, that I am embarking on a bigger deal than I ever realized.

That ½ ironman thing I signed up for. It became clear in the middle of the night why they call it the 70.3 race.

IT IS A TOTAL OF 70.3 MILES!

What have I done??? Reality is just now setting in.

Annual

Every woman gets to do it. That “once a year” visit to have your girly parts looked at.

Yesterday at my annual, I realized as I was disrobing that my socks were worn to the nubbin and hole laden on the right foot. I couldn’t figure out which was going to be better for my OB to look at while I was hang’n out in the stirrups, my hole filled sticky old socks or my nasty yellow callous filled raw feet.

I’m just going to believe that she didn’t notice my choice at all because she was so enraptured with my beautiful nether regions.

Morning run

Glad he’s not my type cause me thinks he saw my cooter

So to tell you the truth, my body aches. I have pushed it hard since February and I am feeling the ill effects of not enough rest and recovery. And the thought of October 2 (the day after the marathon) is oh so sweet and can not come fast enough.

After every one of the triathlons I did this summer, I promised myself a massage, which never happened. Now, after completing my last of the season last weekend, I finally took the gift card I had been saving since Christmas and used it today for a deep tissue massage.

Shaun was touted as their best deep tissue guy, so I took him. We discussed my problem areas (feet, hips, shoulders, especially under the shoulder blades) and he asked me if I was open to lying on my side so he could get into my hip area better. As I said “yes” it quickly dawned on me that unlike the Viking’s players he claims to have worked on, they were fully clothed in shorts and workout wear, I was going to be naked in between some sheets. Never the less I disrobed and slipped in.

Now, if you have had this type of massage before you know it is not for the faint of heart. There is no lying down and falling asleep to waterfall music and the gentle laying on of warm hands from the massage therapist. This massage is hard core, sometimes painful with lots of deep breathing just so you can make it through to the next knot…but always well worth the agony.

Shaun started at my shoulders and back, moved to my feet and legs and then went head long into my glutes. This is the part where I am now laying on my side, top leg at a 90 degree angle to my hip, bottom leg straight down and sheet, well that’s the problem…where oh where was the sheet?

Yeah, to be honest, I felt a little uneasy. I had 285 pounds of therapist pouring all his weight into my hip joint with his elbow, up and around the joint, slowly rooting out two knots that where so big that when they released my whole body slumped back down on the table exhausted.

In the midst of being tortured, I got to the point where I no longer cared about my exposed girly parts. I decided that if he was slimy enough to get a rise out of “that” then he would quickly get close enough to notice that I had not been kind enough to shower after my run in technical fibers this morning.

Purrrr like a kitten

The tri bike that I bought a few months back is fabulous and wonderful and is going to make me soooo fast. The only draw back is, it does not yet fit like a glove and I want it to.

First my knees and hips ached after long rides, so I brought it in and Drew “the bike guy” kindly listened to my delimea and adjusted the seat height.

Then my left knee started giving me trouble, I brought it in and Drew worked hard at finding the potential problem and then he adjusted the angle at which my foot clips into my pedal.

Now I have another biking related issue…MY VAGINA HURTS! Yes, my sweet vagina. It hurts to the point of making me want to scream OH MY GOD MY VAGINA HURTS out loud to the whole world or anyone who will listen. This vagina pain might even rival hemorrhoidal pain. The kind that you can’t shake no matter what you do and you certainly can’t get it off your mind, all while on a 25 mile ride is no good at all.

So, here I sit (gingerly mind you) trying to envision the conversation at the bike shop when I bring my bike back into Drew to tweak.

Me: Hey Drew, how’s it going? Thanks for taking another look at my bike.

Drew: So, what’s the deal?

Me: MY VAGINA HURTS…YOU MUST FIX IT! DO YOU HEAR ME MAN, FIX IT, FIX IT, FIIIIIIIIXXXXXXX IIIITTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!

Almost road kill

Yesterday morning I met up with Jen for our morning run. It was a beautiful morning. It was really peaceful. The temperature was slightly warmer and large snow flakes were gently falling down. We started off at Lake Harriett and worked our way a quarter of the way around Lake Calhoun. Then, through the darkness, a random car drove off the road, up onto the grass, glanced a large rock directly to our right and sped less than 10 feet in front of us onto the running path. It kept going down the path until it turned and burned its way back to the street, but only after hitting two more trees.

Our initial reaction was…OH MY GOD, we almost got hit. We could have been killed. Did they want to hit us? Did they fall asleep behind the wheel? Did they have a heart attack? We didn’t know. All we knew was that we wanted to run, and run away from the car as fast as we could.

We were less then 10 feet away from being taken out of this world, leaving six small children and two husbands collectively between the two of us. Had we been running a touch faster, we could have been hit. Had we not stopped to tuck my hat into my back pocket, we could have been hit. Had we not taken a few minutes to adjust our socks before we started, we could have been hit. We were steps away from not walking back into our own homes that morning.

Later on that day, after I talked about the run with my family, CT hugged my leg, looked up at me and said, “Mama, you would have ruined Christmas if you didn’t come home. I love you, please don’t ever not come home.”

I’ll do my best little buddy, I’ll do my best.

Brrrrrrr

5:00 am + 8 degrees (-4 wind-chill) + 3 mile run around a flat lake with high winds = deranged and obviously insane woman

POP

Light match.

Sterilize needle.

Stick needle delicately into the base of the blister.

Oooooohhhhh. There is nothing more satisfying than draining the bloody-juicy-ooze out of ones very large blister.

Well, maybe there is…watching your kids watch you do it