Dee Hai Dre Shun

Welcome to life, where anything possible can and will go awry, and situations are survived with the help of International Delight Iced Coffee. Mainlined.

This season of life is funny. Funny like, "Oh, it's cute when you thought you were going to have time to, I don't know, breathe." I seriously think the whole point of your thirties is to get your tush handed to you in as many ways possible so that you can finally just get over yourself already and spend the rest of your life *not* stressing over all the things that used to slay you. For example: it used to stress me out that when other people help fold laundry they do it wrong.

(I mean, not everyone understands the importance behind the force of snapping a piece of fabric in such a way that wrinkles instantly yield to the snappers will and clear the heck out in fear of the amazing laundry prowess at hand. But whatev's, we can't all be folding masters, I guess.)

Learning to let go of the fact that so many people seemed to have missed that vital Methods of Laundry Folding stage of development has been liberating. (Plus, I finally realized that even with the children's laundry folded to absolute perfection they render the whole process null and void when they crumple it into a ball and shove it into the dresser drawers.)(Did you know anyone under the age of 10 totally doesn't care about clean wrinkled clothes?!)(What is this world coming to?)

Every time I think our family is at capacity, that we have and are doing all that we can handle, we throw another element into the mix just to keep us on our toes. For me, life is pretty crazy between homeschool, training, and this blog. Brian works twelve hour days (five days a week) and uses the evenings to eat dinner, put the kids in bed, and collapse so that he can lather, rinse, and repeat it all tomorrow. Since we currently each average about five and half hours of sleep, we really thought this would be the best time in life for Brian to go back to school.

Yep. So I'm shacking up with a college student. (I know, it's so cougar-like, am I right?)(I'm thinking of starting to wear leggings as pants and play beer pong on the weekends.)(I also will probably incorporate sweatpants with words on the butt into my daily wardrobe and see if I can finally master the messy bun.)(Oh, and heels with skinny jeans. You know, for when I get fancied up for the grocery store.)

Life just got a bit more complicated.

I was all, "Honey, I will totally support you in this." And I will, because marriage is mostly about compromise and taking turns. Brian is largely the reason I have been able to work out the way I do, and he is incredibly supportive of my work (mainly by acknowledging that homeschool is work)(you would be surprised at the number of people that still assume I eat bonbons and watch tv during the day)(because housewife), so it is my turn to sacrifice a little for his sake.

However, when I said, "Honey, I will totally support you in this," I subconsciously meant more like, "I will totally support you in some abstract, intangible way that doesn't mess with my life at all." Because when Saturday rolled around and I had my first double digit long run on the schedule, grocery shopping, lesson plans, and cleaning to do, I had to figure out how in the heck the hubs was supposed to fit in four solid hours of studying, and it seemed a bit impossible.

So I skipped the long run. Because? There is always tomorrow.

*Sigh.*

This is how that worked out.

We got home from church around 1:30 p.m. I would have run before church except that would mean I would need to run outside no later than 6 a.m. Normally that's not a problem. But this week my lovely little safe suburban town (really, people that know my city are going to be shocked) has both a flasher and a man stalking female runners (because we are like, "Ah heck naw, Detroit isn't sweeping The Most Dangerous City category again this year") and without pepper spray I couldn't run my regular route.

By the time I got home from church I was all, "Forget this, dude. If I don't do it now I won't do it at all." So I got ready and was out the door at 2:15 p.m.

It was a lovely day, albeit a bit warm and humid. It was sunny with a tiny breeze, with temps in the low 80's. The humidity was a bit much but beggars can't be choosers youknowwhatI'msayin'? I started off with my water belt full and two different types of fuel Sarah recommended trying.

The first two miles were uncomfortable. I was just trying to find my groove but I was already thirsty and normally I don't drink anything that early in the game. I sipped a bit of water, and at three miles I ate two GU squishy gel squares. Miles four through seven were really hard. My lower stomach was cramping, and I actually had to stop and walk every mile and a half for a minute until the cramps subsided. I ate half a package of sport beans and continued on. The rest of the run went something like this:

"Dude, Kelly, just make it to that stop light. It's only a half mile away, and then we can reassess. You make it there and you are at 8 miles. You've got 8 miles." Then, "Okay, you made it to the stoplight. See that telephone pole twenty feet away? Make it there. Okay, now let's do one more." (Repeat that process no less than 40 times)(seriously, I counted.) Then,"Ok, just make it to the next stoplight, only one mile to go. If you need it you can walk after you cross the road ..." (FYI - I TOTALLY needed it.)

The run ended with me literally counting every single step I took until I reached home. Once there I tried to stretch but my calf muscles were so tender I couldn't do it right away. I had to ease into it because they were so tight I thought they might snap. I went into the house to get some water, found Brian recaulking the shower, and cried ugly tears because at that moment I didn't even care that I just covered my First Double Digit Run. Instead I was sure I was done running for life and would never, ever, ever (sing it like you're Taylor) be able to run a half marathon.

Hair all a mess? Check. Fake smile? Check. Front porch that needs to be repainted? Check.
TEN MILE RUN, YO!

Upon reflecting, guess what I did wrong? My fuel was okay even though my tummy was cramptastic. My main problem was that I went into a warm run naturally a bit dehydrated, and then only drank about 25 ounces of water on a ten mile run. Duh! Now I just have to start preparing for a long run the day before by pounding as much water as possible. Also, I'll probably salt it a bit to help me retain some of that mess. (Help me retain water?! Ohmylanta running is weird.)

In conclusion, I am married to a hot college student, I'm spoiled rotten by my awesomely full life, and I learned a good lesson about running 10 miles.  Namely, you should pay someone else to do it for you make sure you are hydrated. Next week is a recovery week so I only have a 10K for my long run. THANK YOU JESUS.

The End.