A: EIGHT POINT ONE SIX Q: How many miles did you run, Kel?

Pre-blister, beautiful yet
rotund, toe-age.

If you been following the Camping Saga of 2013, you've taken note of the aforementioned activities: grilled hamburgers, a trip to Wal-Mart, kayaking, and a lovely little four mile jaunt through beautiful greenery where a phantom rock haunted the toe of my running shoe. While the pain of that phantom rock vanished when I removed my shoes, it did leave me with a few sweet souvenirs - namely two adorable blisters on my left pinkie toe. One took up the entire pad of my pinkie toe (and for the record, I have the fattest toes in existence, so don't let the word "pinkie" throw you off; that blister was huge) and the other was on the inside of my pinkie toe, cowering in the space between toes. (Could I possibly write the word "toe" any more?)(Only if I start making some toeriffic puns.)(*vocal rim shot*)

Since I spent most of camping wearing my trusty Old Navy $2 flip-flops (the ones renowned for their sturdiness and also for how appropriate they are for a weekend in the wild), I barely felt my blisters.  Except, of course, for when I noticed how deformed my toes looked, and then I showed everyone around me how nasty my feet were the evidence of such a hardcore four mile run. I began to be a bit concerned with how I was going to handle my 7 mile run the next day. My foot didn't hurt now, but surely when I put my running shoes back on (because they were the only ones I brought) it would hurt again. Could I run my first 7 mile run in history in such pain?

I took Hosanna and biked the 7 mile route I had planned at home using Map My Run. It was so.hilly. Like, cuh-razy hills that I almost had to walk my mountain bike up. But strangely, I really wanted to do that 7 miles. But I was worried about making things worse if I ran in those shoes. The alternative was to run a three mile run instead, and do my long run at home when I had my regular shoes. But if I did that I would have that long run hanging over my head for two extra days.

Rose and her dad. (Who did not
contribute to the running plan
deal.)(But who just had surgery
so S/O to R.J.!)

I was mulling all that over at the campfire while eating a delicious s'more and talking to Rose about the Red Carpet Run. (Multitasking at it's finest.) She came up with two brilliant plans. 1. I should duct tape my blisters. 2. I should run with her and our friend Christina, who were planning to do two miles in the morning. I counter-offered with, "What if I ran four miles first, and then picked y'all up for another three?" A deal was struck, and a plan was born.

I put triple antibiotic ointment on my blisters, and then covered them with a Buzz Lightyear band aid. I covered all that mess with duct tape. The first mile I was aware I had three extra layers coating my littlest toe, but it didn't hurt, and soon I forgot all about it. The bandages worked like a charm. I had zero pain and neither blister popped or got worse. (Even now they have morphed into awesome callouses.)

The first four miles were easy-peasy because I was excited to get back and have running partners. I ran a simple out and back (again, I used the estimated distance from my planning at home on my computer) and Rose and Christina were waiting for me when I returned to camp. I grabbed some water and we were off.

Christina rocked my face off when she brought her phone and could keep track of our distance and pace. This was awesome because Rose often accuses me of lengthening our distances without telling her which I do all the freaking time. Since I hadn't planned for a three mile run I was just guessing at distances when I suggested a route. I was pretty confident it would at least be a three mile run, but imagine my surprise when I took them the two mile out route I had been using and Christina tracked it at 2.25 miles! That meant my 4 mile run was really 4.5 miles. I love when that happens. You get the gain without the mental pain. Score.

We shortened the route back but when her phone signaled we hit three miles, we were still at least a half mile out. I was worried that, yet again, I was asking Rose to go farther then previously agreed upon (Syke. I wasn't really worried at all, but it's rude to keep doing that to the people you love, so I have to at least pretend to feel bad.), but I knew both she and Christina could do this. Their longest runs up to this one were 5k's; 3.1 miles at a slower pace on less hilly courses.  I'm not gonna lie - that last .66 miles wasn't the easiest thing I've ever done (especially because it ended with a steady incline) but we finished strong and ran back into camp like champions.

Totally sing, "We Are the Champions" in your head because I assure you that is what was happening in my head in real time. Rose, Christina, and me - all with new personal records for distance.

Once I was fully convinced I had my math correct (4.5 + 3.66), I said it out loud. "Dude, I totally just ran EIGHT POINT ONE SIX miles. 8.16 miles."

Best 7 mile run ever. Thank you, Rose and Christina.

Goin' Halfsies On a Marathon

I'm not gonna lie.  Half marathon training is kicking my tush.

I still think it was a brilliant plan for me to transition seamlessly from triathlon training to half marathon training.  I do best when I have fitness goals that yield immediate results if I'm faithful (or not), and quite honestly, the temptation to skip my weekly long run only lasts long enough to remember that I have an even longer run the following week.  The promise of extra future misery is a great motivator.

Until now all my runs have been reasonable distances. The first two weeks of half training were filled with 3-5 mile runs.  Then a rude awakening; my first real "long" run : six miles.  Six miles is still a far distance for me. While I've run that distance a few times, it's not something I do once a week or even feel ready for at any moment.  It is still a bit mythical and scary; one of those runs I obsess over a few days before.  I was supposed to run it last Saturday, but with the logistics of the last day of vacation and traveling home, it just wasn't going to work.  Sunday was a no-go as well, because Brian and I stayed up way too late Saturday hashing out school year plans while I cried because I was feeling overwhelmed, so the morning was shot and the rest of our day was full.

I knew Monday was the day of reckoning. While waiting for Brian to come home from work I prepared a super healthful and delicious meal for my family (what - spaghettios don't count?) while downing a late afternoon glass of mocha iced coffee (my second for the day, but who's counting?), and when Brian stepped in, I stepped out.


Here is the unofficial transcript of that run.

First Steps: Walking to the end of my driveway

This.already.exists.
And it's back by popular demand.

"Dude.  This already sucks.  I'm pretty sure it's going to rain.  I hate running in the rain.  My glasses get all splattered.  I need tiny windshield wipers on my glasses for when I have to run in the rain.  Why hasn't anyone invented that yet? Running Fit could make a killing on that.  I'm sure every runner with glasses would wear them.  I mean, I've seen runners, and some of them aren't at all concerned with what they look like while running. Why can't I just get my act together and wear my contacts already?  I have a bajillion pairs.  Oh, here we go.  The end of the driveway. I have to actually run now.  Kelly, once you start running you can't stop for over an hour.  This first step is a huge commitment."

Begin running down my street

Sabotaging my run like a ninja. 

"Yep.  This is not fun.  And my heart is already pounding.  I'm pretty sure this is as close as I've ever felt to an anxiety attack.  I seriously can't breathe.  And with each step I'm getting farther and farther away from home. WITHOUT MY PHONE.  Doh!  Ohmylanta, I will have to shamefully beg a stranger to borrow their phone when I have to call and ask Brian to come pick me up because I am obviously dying.  Or I just drank too much coffee a few minutes ago.  But I'm sure it's not at all my sensitivity to caffeine that is causing me to feel shaky but really just stress because it's almost the school year and I have to get my crap together to teach the kiddos pretty soon."

(This is when I take a one mile interlude to mentally rearrange the furniture in my house to make it more "education-friendly" without turning my entire life into home school.  This interior design session ends with the revelation that we need all new furniture. For the entire house.)

(This is also when I make many mental notes: Google how to add a laminate kitchen table top to our existing table because refinishing that mess just will not do anymore; make a pro/con list for how mad it would make Brian if I painted the half bath without talking to him first; compose a compelling argument to present to the offspring to let them know we are getting rid of Mac-n-cheese lunches on Tuesdays because this whole "allergen free mac-n-cheese" business on a busy day just ain't happening. (Can you seriously imagine having to make from scratch dairy-free mac-n-cheese in the middle of a busy day?)(Being the Best Mother in the World is just not in the cards, it seems.)

Mile 2.5 - Running through a neighborhood of McMansions

I could put in some serious training
time to excel at that sport.

"Okay, so you aren't going to die.  Seriously, Kel. This is less than a 5k right now.  It only sucks in your mind.  Your body can totally do this.  In fact, you are a total Rock Star Bad-A.  Except for just now when you tripped on the pavement and said, "Ueeegh" in order to regain your balance because that's obviously how balance works ... you know, being controlled with verbal help and all. Good thing no one but that entire lawn crew of strapping young men saw you stumble. Aaaannnnd in about twenty feet or so you are going to have to run through their congregating mass loitering about the sidewalk.  This is a good time to cross the street.  But it might shave a little distance off my run distance! Then it won't be a SIX MILE RUN!  That's totally okay Kel, serious racers always find the shortest way to run the course; crossing the street here only makes you more like a professional athlete."

(*I cross the street* *I also try to make it appear as if I meant to do that all along and not just because these men all witnessed my gracefulness in action*)

Mile 3 - My iPod is mocking me

"Mumford and Sons is singing Lover's Eyes.  That.is.hilarious.  'I walk sloooooow, I walk slooooow....'  Very funny, iPod."

Mile 3.25 - Playing Chicken with a goose

It was exactly like this except
just one goose.

"Ummmm, Goose?  Dude, you are like fifteen feet away and you see me coming but you show no signs of vacating the sidewalk.  Maybe you didn't realize that I'm bigger than you and a human and you are on my turf.  I don't run in your pond. Seriously.  I'm now like ten feet away. WTHeck, Goose?  Have you no fear?  I'm a predator.  *audibly growl* *Goose looks at me like, "That all you got?"* Uummm, seriously, move.  It's my right of way. Ohmylanta, this goose is going to attack me. And I'm pretty sure that right now I could not outrun this goose.  Being the age of the cell phone camera, someone is going to record this goose attacking me and running me down as I attempt to flee.  I'm going to end up on YouTube.  And probably Jay Leno (which would totally be a conflict of interest because I already have a sweet deal with David Letterman).  Or maybe even Jimmy Fallon, which? would be sorta rad.  Because then I'd be one step closer to my six degrees of being best friends with Jimmy Fallon. TWO FEET AWAY! TWO FEET AWAY. Are we doing this, Goose?  BRING IT O- sweet, you moved.  We're totally cool."

Mile 4 - The Fake Out

"Ok, Kel, just make it to the stoplight. Then you can stop and rest while you wait for the light to change.  This is a super busy road and it's rush hour, so you should have a good amount of time to catch your breath.  Just ... make it ... to ... the light ... OH NO YOU DIDN'T JUST GIVE ME THE LITTLE WHITE MAN THE SECOND I GOT HERE."

Mile 5 - That Time I Got Passed by Dean Karnazes

Dean from behind. Which is how
I would see him if we ran together.
"Kelly, you just ran 6 miles? That's
cute.  I'm running 600. See you at
the finish."

"This is kind of nice.  I'm in the home stretch.  Sure, I'm slowing down a bit, but I'm still going to finish well.  I've had some time to myself, breathing in some fresh air, feeling a slight breeze tickle my beet red face. This might even be a tad relaxi- OHMYLANTA, SLOW DOWN, DUDE. You can't just run up behind a girl with her iPod playing and race past her like a BAT OUT OF HELL.(Meatloaf begins singing in my head "Paradise By the Dashboard Light" drowning out Cypress Hill who "Ain't Goin' Out Like That" which is quite a feat.) That guy who left me in the dust looks just like my legendary running hero Dean Karnazes.  Like a much taller Dean.  A Dean with longer - and lighter - hair.  A Dean who is 30 pounds of heavier. So really, he looks nothing like Dean at all, except that this guy was fast as well.  Guess what, bro? You get in your 6 miles in 30 minutes, I'll get my 6 miles in 60ish, but at the end of the day we are both logging 6 miles. AWWWWW SNAP."

Mile 6 - GET ME SOME WAAAAATER

"I totally just ran six miles.  LIKE A BOSS.  I can't wait to do a 7 mile run in six more days.  Awesome."  

I collapse after I stretch and ice like a good girl. The end.

This loveliness is after a 4 mile run during The Great Cottage Get-Away of 2013.  This is totally what I looked like after six miles except I looked like I ran the original 4 miles plus 100 more.  Effortlessly.

Wordless* Wednesday

*if you don't count the intro or any captions or disclaimers I may add.

I feel like I've been a bit absent lately.  I didn't post last Friday, and I haven't been able to keep up with/ comment on any of my favorite blogs.  I'm hoping this week settles the heck down.  Seriously.

Here are some pics to update you on all the exciting things going on.  I'll start with the basement.  (Which flooded Thursday.)(Again.)(I know.) I took these pictures back in November when I was motivated to clean and have a triumphant "Before/After = Look At How Amazing I Am At Cleaning" post.

Before

Just remember, however you judge me Jesus is gonna judge you. Think about it, son.

Don't hate.  You know you wish you had Mickey and pals on your basement walls.

For those of you who are questioning my self-proclaimed organization prowess, please note there are paths.

Then, a sort of utopian middle ground, taken Friday night.  Should I call this "During"?

"Kelly, whaaa?  Dang, gurl, where's all your crap?"
Please note the fans, mop, and bucket.  

Aaaand After:

"Um, wow.  You think maybe you took that cleaning thing a little too far? I mean, I think the walls are supposed to stay." Normally I'd agree with you.  Generally I like to keep the walls up when I clean.  I make exceptions for the BLACK MOLD we uncover when we discover the root of years of leaking. Don't worry, at this point we are bringing in the professionals.  But Mickey is sadly evicted. 

So that was Thursday, Friday, and part of Saturday.

This is a picture of me.

This is me sitting in my car.  

On Saturday.  

At around 8:30 a.m. 

This is about the same time I should have been conquering mile three of my 10k.

In another city.

Miles away.

"Kel, what the heck happened?"

Double ear infections.

Damp weather.

Cooooold.

(Also, I finally started treating my double ear infections.  Apparently I've only seen amoxicillin given to infants because when I went to pick up my prescription I was all, "Where's my pink liquid?!")


This is a picture of the spider that attacked my face late Sunday night.

Do you see it on my kitchen window sill?  Imagine that it is 11:00 p.m. and you are shutting the house down for the night.  All the lights are off except for the light over the stove which is illuminating this spider that is brazenly parked in your kitchen.  Your hubby, who is formally charged with killing things like this, is already in bed, so the task falls to you, oh Brave One, to save your family from this arachnid.  You reach for a paper that is sitting on the "needs to go to the recycle bin" pile and use it to whack the creature with all your might.  The creature ricochets off the paper and hits you in the face and you scream like a little girl but not too loud because all the kids are asleep and Dear God, don't let anyone wake up.
Upon closer inspection, you see that the spider is really this:

I think it's pretty rude, Random Screw Being Kept on the Window Sill By My Husband Just in Case We Need it for Something Someday, to pretend to be a spider.  Also, because I am a responsible adult, I keep band aids in my purse for when I scrape my hand on a chair at Bible study.  Because I am a mom, that is why it is a Dora band aid.  Also, the screw is balancing on my hand in the weirdest position possible because Hosanna was my art director for this shot and this is how she posed me (so we could include the band aid.)(You try to fight an eight year old with artistic vision.)

And finally, to end on a sweet note:

Vegan Strawberry Cobbler, yo.

On Friday night our friends Asako and Derek dropped by to give me ice cream sandwiches, a pineapple, and two pounds of strawberries because they knew I've been sick.  How awesome is that?!  It made me feel soooo loved, and it was all delicious. (I love me some pineapple.) Everyone in my house was super excited to put the strawberries to use in some cobbler. (Because of Hosanna's allergies she can't have fresh strawberries but she can have them cooked.  She is also allergic to milk and eggs so everything we bake is vegan.) I hope you appreciate this picture, because at this point all that's left of that cobbler is the sweet memory.

There ya go.  I think my Wordless Wednesday totally lived up to it's name. Now I'm off to read some blogs.  Have a wonderful day!

It's a sad day when Paula Abdul seems to adequately sum up my life.

Smells like R.Kelly's sheets ... but it was 99 cents!

Lately my gym seems to be going out of their way to play music that sucks. And not just any sucky music - the Greats.  You know, like Billy Joel's "River of Dreams" and Paula Abdul's "Opposites Attract."  Normally this wouldn't bother me as I usually plug myself into my iPod, but I've been going au natural due to (ready for it?) double ear infections.  (Although, yes, a doctor already told me it probably wouldn't make a difference if I continued to wear them, but I know how much I sweat when I work out and my ear buds have a tendency to collect the fruit of all my hard work.)(Gross.)(Fun fact for free?  I am the stinkiest sweat-er.)(And not in a Macklemore "Thrift Shop" kind of way.)(The kind of way that's like "guuuuurl, you need to Febreeze yo'self now 'cuz my eyes are waterin' standin' next to you.")(That's why I used to rush through stretching.)(Because it was rude to make someone stand next to me post-workout as I contorted my body into positions that encouraged the stink to permeate further.)(Then I pulled my calf and really value stretching so now I'm all, "Dude, suck it up and just be a mouth breather for a few minutes.  My entire athletic future depends on downward dog.)(Woof.)

Where was I?  Oh, yes.  At my gym, kicking out the late '80's jamz.

(I do a really mean impression of Billy Joel's falsetto part in River of Dreams*.  Not that it's good; it's literally mean/mean-spirited.  It sounds best while I'm in the shower and has caused Brian to rush into the bathroom asking, "Are you okay?  Do you need medical intervention?" and me to reply, "Dude, I'm performing here.")

(*The reason I am so familiar with Billy Joel's "River of Dreams" is because we sang it in my high school choir.  Also? My high school choir was nothing like Glee; I didn't even know being in choir was something most people were embarrassed about until I got to college and majored in ... choir.  Well, I majored in music but was required to be in a choir that met everyday for all four years I was on campus, so yeah, I majored in choir.  In my high school the choir director knew about marketing so she made a lot of the popular kids into choir stars (genius) which made the teenage masses also want to be choir stars.  So our choral program was pretty big.  And not nerdy.  I'm pretty sure.)(I realize this description does nothing to help my case that our choir wasn't for lew-sers.)

I think my glasses and choir uniform are proof enough that choir was *a pretty big deal* in 1991, but just in case you weren't convinced of the level of cool required to sing with a group of 8th graders, please draw your attention to my golden-ish heart necklace with "Kelly" scrawled in wire inside.

Further proof?  Yes.  That *is* a renaissance festival gown I'm wearing because we performed a dinner/concert thing every fall called Wassail Festival.  I was totally on the Royal Court.  Which?  Was awesome.
(And look at me werking it - rocking the over the shoulder pose at 16?  A true prodigy.)

This is probably my greatest moment in performance history (not even being sarcastic now, this is truly my high school legacy - that shizz was GOLD).  We are doing "Love Shack" by the B-52's. I am so, so mad I can't find a picture with Corrie Beth as well.  We were quite the trio.

(Also not loser-y?  I went to music camp the summer before my junior year.  I spent two weeks at Interlochen Center for the Arts wearing the required navy blue shorts, powder blue polo shirt, and yellow socks.)(I lost seven pounds while I was there because I was scared to poop so I didn't eat.)(The bathroom in our cabin had two toilets in the same partition-offed area "room" behind a swinging door that had no latching mechanism.  These two toilets were separated by a single piece of chest high plywood.  You could literally touch knees with the person *going* next to you if you were relaxed enough to actually be able to do any of your business at this point.)

Ok, that was probably the greatest tangent in Sublurban Mama history.  Back to the gym.

I was on the treadmill trying to run five miserable miles while listening to sweet young Paula describe her relationship with MC Skat Kat.  I was suffering.  And not just because of the music it was also because I had runner's trots and you already know how I feel about pooping in public. I was looking at the treadmill every fourteen seconds thinking it had been at least a minute and a half each time and realizing about a mile and a half in that I was not going to be able to finish my run.  My ears hurt.  My chest ached from last week's chest cold.  And darn it, I was just.plain.tired.

I started whining thinking about my upcoming 10k.  I wanted to PR this race because isn't that the goal of every race?  I did my last 10k at the end of triathlon season; I was in my best shape ever.  Now it seems like every time I get some momentum going I get knocked down again.  Pulled calf, no training for five weeks.  Three solid weeks of training, then the flu.  Another solid few weeks and a chest cold and ear infections. "Two steps forward, two steps back."  Dude, Paula, it's like you know me. (Or are mocking me, I haven't decided yet.)

I hobbled through four miles. I incorporated three walk breaks.  It took about 45 minutes to conquer those miles.  I will not be setting a PR at this race.

So, Imma do this 10k even though I don't feel ready mostly because I already paid for it.  It's going to be ugly and not fun, but I heard a rumor there is a medal for finishers and I'm all over that.  My new goal is to finish without walking.  Even if I have to move sloooooooowly. Just keep running.

In closing, to celebrate the most disjointed post I've ever written, I've decided to get imaginary paid for every parenthesis I use.  I'm an imaginary millionaire from this post alone.

DFL - A Modern Day Horror Story

"Second Place is First Loser."
-the Navy Seals

I don't want to get too bragg-y, but in terms of my running speed, I'm pretty solidly in the 40th percentile.  Roughly 60 percent of the other runners in the race will cross the finish line before me.  I'm okay with that because 30 percent are finishing after me*, which I'm sure we all can agree is the main point of races.  You know, to beat somebody.

(*Even at my slowest, my very first 5K was comprised of both walkers and runners so I was guaranteed a middle-of-the-pack but totally an end of the pack for runners finish.)(It's not like any of the walkers passed me while I was running.)(That would be ridiculous.)(It totally happened.)(But if it did happen, it would have been by a cracked out power walker wearing Shape Ups.)(One who, if having incorporated just a little more bounce in her step would have technically been considered jogging.)(I'm going to suggest some of these "walkers" get tested for performance enhancing drugs before races.)(Because if there's one thing we learned from Lance, it's how to look bored out of your mind while confessing your contrition when you get caught doing the thing you spent your career vehemently swearing you didn't do   that it is possible for a Damage Control Publicity Tour to make you seem like more of a jackhole than the initial infraction ever did  that victory obtained through falsehood isn't true victory.)

As I was picking my races I thought, "It might be really cool to do an Olympic distance triathlon this summer."  The Olympic distance is twice as long as the Sprint distance I did last year.  I spent a few days warming up to the idea, looked up a good race, and committed.  I was going to do an OLYMPIC DISTANCE TRIATHLON.  I wrote out my training plan and took some time to revel in my own Bad-A self.  It was while I was dwelling on my awesomeness, picturing myself competing in this particular race, when I was struck by a horrifying thought.

(If you are a runner, there are a few acronyms you pick up along the way.  "PR" stands for the Personal Record, "LSD" is the long slow distance I drop every Sunday before church, and "ACL" is an injury to avoid like the plague.  Some acronyms you learn to save time, some to be cool, and some just for plain old survival. There is one such survival acronym in my arsenal that I never-evah-evah (Sorry Ms. Jackson)(forevah-evah?) wanted to see associated with my name.

D  F  L.

Dead Effing Last.)

I realized, what with the size (this race is very small.  Last year about 120 people raced the Sprint.  Only seventeen raced the Olympic.  Of those seventeen, two were women.) and caliber of athlete competing in this race (last year's slowest time - by a lot - for Olympic was 2:53:46), if I do the Olympic Distance Triathlon I want to do, there is a huge chance I will finish last.  Like last out of the whole entire race.  Both Sprint and Olympic combined.  DFL.

"So, Kelly, what's the big deal, find a different race."  I know.  I could just find something bigger and stop being such a drama queen get on with life.  But I like this race.  And now I have a mental challenge on top of the physical challenge of racing.  Can I emotionally handle being DFL?

So I've taken the first step.  (Admitting you have a problem is the first step, right?) I've also taken the official next step, which I've decided is "Contact the race organizers and make sure there is not a time cut off for the Olympic distance."  Because the only thing more embarrassing than a DFL finish is the one you are not allowed to finish because you're TFS*.

*I made that one up.  You can work it out on your own.

For All My Fitness Homies*

*and by "homies" I mean "fellow nerds".

Many of you started reading this blog last summer at the height of my physical fitness.  I was training for and completed my very first triathlon, and was in full-on Beast Mode. Maybe you've noticed that for months now lately my posts have been decidedly un-health related. There is a simple reason for that.  Winter is my season to get fat hibernate and recover from the constant stress I put on my body during training.

But guess what?  It's almost spring and the time for preparation has come.  This race season is already in full effect.  So buckle your seat belts, kids, Mama's in for the long haul.

(You're all, "Dude, who is this person?")

(And I'm like, "I know, right? It's like I've been replaced with the nerdier version of me.")                        
(To which you reply, "Nerdier version?  Is that even possible?")

I'm a planner.  I love, love, love to plan.  My plans have plans.  (Remember Black Friday?) I'm pretty sure that's why I love Pinterest so much.  It's like the Land of Eternal Plans.

One of my favorite things to do in February is plan my race schedule for the year.  I get out the calendar and commit to a million races that all look like the best.races.ever.  Then I have a bit of a reality check because races cost money. And so do diapers (which I am still buying because I suck at potty training.)(And maybe I stress ate an entire package of Ezra's potty training M&M's yesterday.)(So it may be a while before the kid has any incentive to pee in the potty because Mama is not going shopping for a few days.) A girl can only afford/justify paying to run in a race for fun so many times.  I had to scale back my race dreams considerably.

(Some of the races on my Dream List?
1. Tough freaking Mudder - it's like a half marathon where you can get electrocuted.  Who wouldn't want that?!
2. Color Run - have you ever seen the pictures?
3. Warrior Dash - um, my race recap kind of says it all.
4. Foam Fest - just like Warrior Dash ... but cleaner.
5. Red Carpet Run - a 5k in a prom dress? Totally there.)

Once my races are picked, I set up my training schedule.  I usually train around the biggest races. (Duh.)  This year I am training for three main races.  A 10k in April (due to injury and two weeks of flu I am actually having to be pretty diligent about getting back to 10k form), a triathlon in July, and a half marathon in October.

Determining a training schedule actually takes quite a bit of time for me.  Most triathlon training plans are written for 6 workout days a week, and I know I can only commit to 5. And since they involve swimming, biking, and running I have to factor in pool access, when I have the blocks of time to do long workouts (two hour bike rides, hour and a half runs, and brick workouts - which are usually long bike rides followed immediately with thirty minute runs), and how to follow long workouts with meaningful rest time.  (For example:  running an hour and a half Saturday, biking two hours Sunday, and running intervals on Monday probably isn't the best plan.  Unless, of course, I'm planning for injury.  Then it's a stellar plan.) Since my days off are Tuesdays and Fridays, this means I have to play a bit with any traditional schedules. (I mostly follow the plan(s) by Matt Fitzgerald. He knows his stuff and he's cute.)

For the 10k and half-marathon I just follow good ol' Hal Higdon.  He hasn't failed me yet.  I might modify the half plan slightly to include some speed work, but we'll see.  For now here is a sample of my training plan.  I picked June because it's in the middle to last part of my sixteen week training plan.  It's intense but not crazy sick yet.

A work of art, amIright?  Let me decode it for you.

Run workouts are red because "red" rhymes with "tread" which is short for "treadmill*." (Genius.) (*although I will mostly run outside on a non-treadmill surface.)

Swim workouts are blue because ... dude, really?

Strength training is green because "green" rhymes with "lean and mean" which makes me think of strength training. (Seriously, why wouldn't it?)

Bike workouts are brown because I didn't have orange.  (Orange was my first pick because orange makes me think of creamsicles, which almost kind of has "cycle" right in the word.) I settled for brown because trail riding is by far my favorite (although I train for triathlon on the road) and brown reminds me of trail riding and that makes me happy.

I use black for information like race dates, recovery weeks, and taper weeks.

There are also a lot of codes involved in the training plan which makes it look a lot more hardcore than it is. These are just different drills and kinds of workouts.  It's not that complicated once you know it. (Ex: TRR = Transition Run (a ten minute run after a bike workout to teach your legs to run after prolonged biking); SLI = Swim Lactate Intervals (a fancy way to say 'on a scale of 1-10, 10 being you are about to keel over, swim at a 9 for 75 yard intervals); CLH = Bike Long Hill Climbs (pretty much what it sounds like - a bike ride with a bunch of long hills (five minutes of steady climbing).

I feel so much relief at having a plan.  Following The Plan means I have less chance of mortifying myself by barely stumbling across the finish line. Once I'm entrenched in training I don't have to think about what to do next which is good because all my brains cells are busy convincing me not to quit.

I am so excited to get into tri season.  To all my fellow fitness nerds homies I say, "Happy Race Season! Hurrah!"

How I Became an Ultra-Ironman Triathlete

I should not have put off writing today's post for as long as I have, as it is now late Tuesday night and instead of reveling in my normal hilarity I am sad, sad, sad.

Brian just took the in-laws to the airport. You know, where they will be boarding a plane to Africa.  For a year. (And by that I mean they will be living in Africa for a year, not boarding a plane for a year.)(It's just that my sentence structure was confusing and I didn't want anyone to be misinformed.)(Because here at Sublurban Mama we care about factual and accurate information.)(And avoid redundancies and repeating ourselves.)(Did you like how I said "we" like Sublurban Mama is more than me, a SAHM blogging in my jammies, wondering if Ezra will remember he has a Milky Way Valentine's heart from Grandma in the fridge or if he is still young enough that out of sight means out of mind, and if that is the case I should totally eat it?)

For those who already live far away from family, or just plain don't see yours much, in-laws in Africa for a year will not seem a big deal.  But I'm close with my in-laws, and the kiddos see their grandparents several times a week.  We live 3.1 miles apart (which is an excellent running route, because there's always cold water and a potty half way through)(and a ride home if I wuss out).  This will be an adjustment.  Because honestly, I can't see myself going out for a jog to Malawi anytime soon.  I am an ultrarunner at heart, but I should probably cover more than 6 miles at a time if I'm going to attempt intercontinental running.  Plus there's that whole "ocean" thing.  Although that could be the most intense triathlon ever.

The Ironman Triathlon is a 2.4 mile swim.  The Visit the In-Laws in Malawi Triathlon is about a 4,000 mile swim.  The Ironman follows it's swim with 112 miles on the bike.  My VTILIM Triathlon would have a 3300 mile bike ride.  The run would undoubtedly be the easiest part. The Ironman finishes with a little 26.2 mile marathon, and I think the VTILIM run would be about the same.  Except in a third world nation.  With no support or paved roads.  A trail run marathon.

Actually, my Visit the In-Laws in Malawi Triathlon sounds a lot like what I imagine is an everyday Navy Seal workout.  In fact, with a few minor tweaks (like the rule where you have to carry a weapon and wear camo body paint) I'm pretty sure I should rename this the Navy Seal Triathlon for Hardcore Endurance Athletes that Know Second Place is First Loser and that Pain is Just Weakness Leaving the Body.  It's catchier and more inclusive, don'tcha think?

Hoorah.

"Remind me to tell you the thong story."

This is totally what it was like.  If I played tennis.

This weekend reminded me that my friends are amazing and that I am spoiled rotten to have them in my life.

When I mentioned to Sarah (who finished her 70.3 IRONMAN in 5:43:30 BTW) I was thinking about running my first 10K because I was feeling horrible that I quit Jillian and needed to prove something to myself she was all, "I'll find a great race and run it with you!"  Score.

Sarah found a cheap great race close to home and we decided to go for it.  I was excited but not terribly nervous; any kind of new distance is a guarantee for a personal record, and I wanted to aim for a 1:06:00 finish.  This seemed fairly attainable and all was good.

Then I got a visitor.

I've never been one of those girls who bemoaned her monthly; sure, it's not the most pleasant of events, but it's just a part of life, you know?  But something happened to my body after I had Ezra.  I went from being a girl that had a normal uncomfortable time during her period to a girl who dreamed of mainlining Aleve and that arranged her schedule around the dreaded Day Two.  Why did my body change so drastically?

Of course I have a theory about that. Remember how I'm pretty sure that Ezra is my Siamese twin? I think that after carrying him in my womb for nine months my body is staging an ongoing rebellion that he had to leave.  And so every month my uterus organizes a full scale battle on my mind, body, and emotions.  It will punish me until menopause or until I have another baby.  (Which I think about all the freaking time.)(Because all my friends are having babies.)(And they are adorable.)(The babies, not my friends.)(Although my friends are adorable, too.)(But then I remember that  babies don't sleep.)(And I do.)(And that is awesome.)

So basically a civil war is being fought every 28 days inside me and my uterus is the battleground.

Someone was all like, "Do you know what I should knit?  An angry uterus."  And they did it.

Thursday night was menstruation's golden time of arrival.  Which made the dreaded Day Two fall on Saturday.  The same Saturday of my first 10K.  Thankfully the wicked diarrhea I had from my delicious Friday night Applebee's dinner woke me up at four a.m. and totally distracted me from the awfulness that is a direct result of Day Two.

But I'm a "Game ON" kind of girl.  Sarah picked me up and we arrived at the race early enough to get parking, register, and use the porta potty.  It was about 45 degrees.  I wore pants and my ALABAMA sweatshirt (which only becomes a point of contention when they play Michigan or Michigan State)(Roll Tide) and was chilly enough to wish I'd worn more.  This worked out well as I was looking forward to the start of the race just so I could get moving.

Sarah wore her fancy running watch, so she was going to keep track of our splits (privately) and tell me if I needed to pick up the pace to reach my goal.  This way I wouldn't obsess over the numbers and could run according to what my body (in it's current rebellious state) could handle.  (Have I mentioned yet how great she is/spoiled I am?)

The run was both fantastic and horrid.  It just depends on when you asked me.

I told Sarah I wasn't going to be much for talking this run.  Since my stellar commentary is primarily what makes me so fun to be around, you will be saddened to know I said about three things during the six (point two) miles we ran. The first was, "Lowe's" as a shorthand response to Sarah asking what we ended up getting my Dad-in-law for his birthday.  I meant we got him a Lowe's gift card, not that we actually bought him the whole store, but since Sarah has common sense and college degrees, she totally understood what I meant.

I also said, "Remind me to tell you the thong story."  I don't remember what made this relevant to whatever she was sharing at the time, but I had a thong story to share, and good golly I did not want to miss the chance to tell it.  The Thong Story sadly was more my opinion and personal experiences with thongs, but did include the words and phrases, "don't want anything in my crack", "I'm bringing free ballin' back", "but then she told me, "free ballin' never went away."  Don't worry, I was able to eventually communicate all these things boisterously to Sarah while we were stretching amid 1500 people who were meandering about the post-race area.

I finished with, "I think I'm gonna die (huff, pant, huff) or puke."  I was not being dramatic.  Mile 5 to the end was painful.  At one point I thought about crying.  I heard someone call my name during this time, and when I turned around and saw someone I knew walking the 5K portion the information barely registered.  All I could think was, "Don't freaking trip because you will not get back up."  My split for the last mile was a lot faster than the first 5 because pleaseGodletitend.

I finished in 1:04:08.  Hoorah!  I was 251 out of the 344 that ran the 10K.  Apparently there is a medal for 251st place; it's called "Participation."  (But my family was so cute; when I came home with my medal, they got all wide-eyed and said, "Did you win?")

In conclusion, take that, Aunt Flo.  You might try to knock me down, but you will not keep me there. Because Eminem sang "Won't Back Down" in a continuous 20 second loop in my head the entire race I am a Navy Seal at heart, and we don't let a little internal insurgency stop us from getting the job done.

It truly was a Red October Run.  (*giggle snort*)
And I was surfing the Crimson Tide. (OMLawd, someone stop me.)