THE RUNS (haaa)

I'm 12, for serious. I wanted to upload a picture I took at the grocery store yesterday to prove this, but it would require somehow getting a photo off my BlackBerry without creating an email account and I don't know how to do that. Instead I will recreate it for you!



Apparently this is some sort of English dessert, I don't know. Obviously this is why I never received my invite to the royal wedding. That and the fact that my name is Kate and my hometown is Middleton, so there would have been some tension and confusion about who was the correct bride (I think we all know the answer to that).

Anyway, onto the running! I went for a wonderful 4.2 miles on Tuesday at night and was reminded of a bunch of things, like how much I love running in the evening, how good Wisconsin smells when the weather pretends it is spring and it's right after a rainstorm, and how good running can be when it doesn't totally suck. I would rate that run about an 8.5 out of 10, it could only be better if it had been faster (I was at a 9:10 pace) and if I had not eaten a jillion Cheez-Its right before I went.

Today, I went running with my friend Allison. Allison and I have been friends since high school, she was one of the first girls I was ever good friends with because I learned at a young age that girls are DRAMA and being friends with boys is easier. (I then went to college and joined a sorority and now my number of girlfriends equals my number of guy friends; turns out I'm equal-opportunity.) Allison and I ran cross country and track together in high school and she hated me at first for awhile because once on the track bus I announced in front of our coach that my boyfriend had told me he had seen her at a - gasp! - DRINKING PARTY that weekend. I do not really blame her for hating me for this and also, I am a moron. But she did not get in trouble and then our coach made us run 18 200's one day and we have been friends ever since.


Sadly we do not look this nice when we run, especially because Allison spends a lot of our runs swearing at me under her breath for making her go.

Als is the only person I have ever really been able to run with, I think just because we spent so many years in sync that way that it's just easy to fall back into it. I emailed her a few weeks ago and asked if she wanted to run with me sometimes while I train and thankfully she said yes! So we went today. It is a very happy thing because it was cold and rainy and gross out and if left to my own devices I am not 100 percent sure what would have happened. We did my 3.6-mile loop at about a 10-minute pace which felt REALLY slow to me, but I went when it would have been easy not to so that is what I am focusing on.

Allison is running a 5-mile race this weekend and she asked me to do it with her and I was all meh, because it is $50 and I have only been running for two weeks so I'm trying not to push it super hard. I got through about half of the online race registration process last week and then decided to just register for that fake Legend of Arlage 5K instead. BUT then I got this email today:


OH REALLY?

I am confused by this but also excited because I enjoy a bargain, and what is a better bargain than getting to run a race for free? So I'm going to head over to Best Buy tomorrow and see what happens. I think the chances of there being a packet for me are pretty slim. I also think the chances of them having some record of my unintentional shadiness and then demanding payment are kind of high, and if they do, I am going to say no and leave which makes me look INTENTIONALLY shady, but whatever. As Allison said, "You are never going to see them again anyway." Of course she just wants someone to run this thing with so probably I shouldn't listen to her. I guess we will seeeeee! If my next blog is via BlackBerry from a holding cell in the back of Best Buy, YOU WILL KNOW. Of course that depends on my being able to blog from my BlackBerry; odds of that are slim at best.

All Alone On The Internet

I hate that in my tailbone-induced blogging absence everyone up and abandoned my blog. That's fine, I didn't like you guys anyway, even though I totally still subscribe to all of you and read you every day, including several people who don't know I exist because I am a certified Blog Lurker.

o hi there, just enjoying ur blog

THAT IS JUST FINE. It does make me think of important philosophical questions, though, like "if I blog and no one reads it, is it still a blog?" Really, the absence of readers is just expanding my mind.

After bravely announcing my marathon plans to the world, aka my friends and family, most of whom were then strong-armed into donating money to my cause, I proceeded to sit around for about a week and a half. Just sitting! Pondering and thinking seriously about running, but never actually doing it. I don't really know why.

Well, partly I do. I am very good at procrastinating and also occasionally good at not following through with projects, so you can imagine the one-two punch that Training For A Marathon induced in me. Normally when I am getting back into running shape I start by going 2-3 times per week, about 20-25 minutes each time, not worrying about distance or pace, just focusing on running for roughly the same amount of time each outing. This has always worked for me. It takes me about two weeks to get back in some semblance of shape this way, and then I go from there. But THIS time, because I was Training For A Marathon, the very idea of going for a 20-minute run was killing me. I don't know if it was intimidation or just feeling like a 20-minute run was an insult to the idea of marathon training or what, but I just Could. Not. Do. It.

I am a master of excuses, of course, so there were plenty of REASONS why I couldn't go, like I had to work or it was raining or my rabbit chewed the laces on one of my running shoes and now it was like really hard to tie. All of these things are true and actually happened, it's just that none of them are a good reason to skip running. Finally on Good Friday, after procrastinating for three hours, I got fed up with myself and went out to run.

It was supposed to be a 25-minute run; it of course ended up being 3.72 miles and 34 minutes because - surprise! - once I actually got OUT there, I was all, "oh right, I like doing this." And then I got up early on Easter Sunday and went again, this time for 3.62 miles. And now I feel sort of in the zone about it, which will of course change at some point; I will be crabby about having to run and I won't want to do it but thanks to publicly announcing my marathon goal to the world (and simultaneously no one, since no one is reading, dramatic pause for my weeping), and thanks, more, to the fact that I am running now to benefit homeless animals, I know I will go and get it done.

I am a lot slower than I like right now (I am running pretty consistently at around a 9:10 pace). I am also working hard on reminding myself that I have run three times after taking three months off and maybe I should just shut up and let that improve by itself, or at least shut up and let myself get to a point where I am in shape enough to do speed and hill work. Either way I am trying to shut up.

To keep motivated and make sure I keep training I also registered for a 5K on May 14. It's called the Legend of Arlage Spring Run 5K. I have zero idea what any of that means, though apparently it is a race to fight homelessness. I looked it up on DailyMile and it didn't exist there so I had to create a page for it. Currently I am the only participant. I mean I am sure in the non-internet world there may be other people registered, but at least on DailyMile, I am totally going to win my age group. Booyah!

I would have tried harder to make this post more entertaining, like with photos or by showcasing more clearly my wittiness, but I don't think anyone will read it anyway so whatever. Also this is the one and only time I will ever whine about not having readers, I'm so not that type of blogger. Consider yourself whined warned.

tap tap

Oh hello, world of internet running blogging!

I am back, sort of, which is to say that my tailbone is healed (I think) and I am going to start running again really, any day now, as soon as I stop moping around about the fact that I still have not been able to find a job and am still living in the Great White North, and also, maybe some time soon, I will stop saying, "Since I am obviously going to start running again tomorrow, I am going to eat many delicious things tonight because after tonight I will be In Training and Eating Healthy!"

Things I have rationalized eating with this speech:
-cookie dough
-three huge breakfasts (on different days; please note how long I've dragged this out)
-Cadbury eggs (don't regret)
-two boxes of Cheez-Its (don't regret)
-two calzones with so much cheese it would choke a non-Wisconsinite (don't regret)

I mean I really don't regret any of this if we are being honest, on account of the deliciousness and also the fact that my clothes still fit, but it's just gross and stupid, especially since after all of that "O.M.G.This Is My Last Night Before I Start Training"-ness, I have, you know, not started training. Shrug. And I don't even have the cold to blame anymore because it's consistently in the 50s and 60s here, which for the Midwest is a damn heatwave.

So I did what any sane person would do when needing motivation to run: I registered for a marathon.

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I know. Well, I have wanted to run a marathon forever, and I put it on my list of Things To Do Before I Turn 30. And then I up and turned 29 in February and all of a sudden turning 30 is this thing that is actually going to happen to me, like WHAT, so I hopped to it and picked one and here I am having the cold sweats about it online for the world to see.

I picked the Chicago Marathon, for several reasons. If GOD FORBID I am still in the Great White come October, it will be very easy to get to Chicago, and if PLEASE LORD I am elsewhere, it is supa-easy to fly into Chicago (much easier than it is to get to my hometown, actually, and cheaper). My stepsister and her boyfriend live there so ostensibly I will have free lodging (nope, haven't run that by them yet), and it's close enough to home that my family can drive down to watch me run. And the Midwest in October is a climate and a terrain that I am familiar and comfortable with. It is the perfect plan! Except of course that registration was closed so I had to join a fundraising team. So now I am not only running for myself and my before-30 dreams, but for homeless cats and dogs in Chicago. Really, it could only be more perfect if they were homeless cats and dogs in Wisconsin, and frankly, IT IS CLOSE ENOUGH.

So! I am back! Sort of, in that I have not actually done any running YET, BUT I WILL FOR SERIOUS, and I am sure I will fall down many many times and have more hilarious stories about which to blog. In the meantime I leave you with this:

Hey. I was homeless. Now I'm not. Maybe you could donate some money about that.

See, even my sweatshirt-wearing cat can do it! My bunny rabbit, however:

I was homeless too. Now I watch you sleep.

....probably can't. But I feel pretty confident he would want you to.

update (really, but not about me, so not really)

The gym guy called back, and I missed his call and he left a very informative voicemail so I do not have to call him back (score!). He said they will be more than happy to a) freeze my membership and also b) refund me the weeks I've missed so far. But I will need a doctor's note.

CUE SAD MUSIC. Like maybe some emotional Backstreet Boys, or maybe some Justin Bieber, since that's what the kids seem to be into these days, idk.

I would like to do a lyrical pun here, but I don't listen to Justin Bieber.

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As I mentioned somewhere before, I do not have insurance currently. This is because I quit my full-time job in the industry I have wanted to work in since I was 12 in order to move to California with my boyfriend. Then my boyfriend and I got to California and broke up, which is the story of why I am currently in the Great White North. (Well not really, it is of course a much longer story, one that I will be happy to tell any of you in person if you want to come over and bring Kleenex and vodka and Cheez-Its, not necessarily in that order.) So upon hearing that the gym would require a doctor's note I did some asking around to see if I know any doctors who would be willing to give me a note.

I asked my mom, who lives next door to a doctor, and works for a doctor, and has a brother who is a doctor, and whose best friend has a son who is a doctor. She said no.
I asked my dad, who is the CEO of a healthcare non-profit and knows thousands of doctors*. He said no.
So then I resigned myself to my sad fate and found a free clinic in town. I will be schlepping there on Monday. It is a Catholic clinic, which is fine because I do not need birth control, but I am a little worried that it may burst into flames when I walk through the door. Which would be sad on many levels, including the fact that I would then need to have burns treated on top of my butt problems. It never ends.

*Back when I was having tumor issues, I emailed my X-rays to my parents so they could get an idea of what was going on. Unbeknownst to me, my father then sent the X-rays to literally DOZENS of random doctors I had never met, asking if they could take a look and offer advice. I started receiving emails from tons of men I had never met, all of whom had peered at my bones and were eager to share their thoughts. I called my dad and said, "Who are these men and why do they have opinions on my innards?" In retrospect, it was very adorable, but I find it highly suspect that now when I need a note about my butt, he can't be bothered to email one of them. However if the free clinic decides there's a tumor of sorts hiding in there, I am sure my dad will be all over it.

update (not really)

This is what I am currently sitting on:


Why yes, yes that is a chair with a full-sized bed pillow on it. I should sit on this even when my ass is not injured, because my butt is bony enough that this chair causes me pain after five minutes anyway. But the fact that I went through the effort to grab a pillow from my bed to sit on while I blog should tell you that my tailbone still hurts.

The plus side: it is getting better! It hurts less and I can do various things that I could not before, like get into the car without wincing and carry a ladder without wanting to kill someone.

The down side: well. It still hurts.

I finally gave in and called my gym this morning to see if I could freeze my membership while my dignity heals itself. The membership guy was not in, so I left a message. He's there now and hasn't called me back, which is a fairly accurate metaphor for life at the moment. If you need me, I'll just be hanging out here on my butt pillow, waiting for the phone to ring and contemplating various life choices, like which microwaveable dish I would like to eat for breakfast.

full-on frowny

Well. Nine days after literally busting my butt on the ice, I'm still walking painfully like a senior citizen, clearly have yet to run a single mile and have officially given up hope of running the Little Rock Half-Marathon. Which is in 25 days, not that it matters with regard to my sad life anymore.

UGH. I AM NOT HAPPY. Basically I am this:

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+ this:

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Only I'm less cute and more bitchy. Reasons I am not happy:

1. My stupid butt. I have a really bony butt, like embarrassingly bony, like I can't go to restaurants and sit on un-padded chairs because I will be in legit pain in about 20 minutes. I have the whitest white-girl booty you've ever seen. So of course it should have occurred to me that falling hard on said bony white-girl booty would probably result in a more-than-casual injury, because I have zero padding back there. Of course it did not occur to me, which just adds insult to the ongoing injury.
2. I can't go to the doctor to properly diagnose my butt injury because I don't have insurance, because I quit my job and moved to California to be with my now ex-boyfriend, where presumably there is no ice to slip on, OH MY GOD THIS BUTT THING IS JUST BRINGING UP RAGE ABOUT SO MANY OTHER THINGS. Through the magic of the Google, I have determined that my tailbone is in fact bruised and not broken, not that it matters because either way there's not much a doctor can do for it except offer ibuprofen and ice and pat me on the back. But still. It would be nice to know for sure.
3. I HATE QUITTING THINGS, and if I had NOT fallen on my ass and had been able to continue my last-minute training plan, I would have been able to run that half-marathon no problem. It probably wouldn't have been pretty but I believe I would have beat my tumor time, and I would have also gotten to spend the weekend with the giraffe, drinking wine and coffee and loving the balmy 40-degree temperatures in Little Rock. Now instead I am going to suffer alone, with my butt, in the Great White North. Probably with wine, as clearly alcohol is all I have left.
4. I hate the Great White North. Can I please move anywhere, except for back to Virginia? Can I please get a job so I can get out of here? It is so cold outside that every uncovered part of my body (aka my face, my hands) physically hurts after about 10 seconds of venturing outside.
5. (the kicker) When I am this crabtacular, running is basically the only thing that makes me feel better. Aaaaaaaand I can't.

Well, maybe that's not entirely true, because whining about things on the internet just now kind of made me feel better. KIND OF.

Anyway, probably I will keep blogging about ridiculous things that happen to me, but unfortunately my posts will probably not include any running for awhile, like until my butt TAILBONE heals. (I really have to start embracing the term "bruised tailbone" rather than "broken butt" because it is more socially acceptable, like I can't tell my boss I can't do things at work because my butt hurts, even though - surprise! - I already told her that like 17 times.)

As a sad final note, please observe the email I received from the Daily Mile this week:


Thanks, jerkfaces. Appreciate it.

And then I fell down (it was only a matter of time)

Uhh so. After a really great week of training, I spent two days eating things like this:

That's Midwestern for "gourmet breakfast" in case you aren't fluent.

We like anything that involves cheese.
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Cream cheese counts as a cheese.
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Cheez-Its are low-brow cheese.
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I don't usually stress about the occasional binge weekend because a) it's fun (look at all the cheese, who knew cheese even CAME in so many forms?!) and b) it doesn't matter if you go back to eating like a sane human shortly thereafter. Plus with all the running, I figured, who cares? Clearly this is the best part of running.

And then I slipped and fell on ice into my way into work yesterday, and now my butt hurts and I am walking like I am 80 and I don't know that is such a great idea for me to go running. Also did I mention it looks like this outside YET AGAIN:

Only less pretty and more annoying. And if I managed to injure myself walking at a slow pace into work, you can imagine what I would do to myself outside trying to contend with NATURE, or whatever. The end result of this is that I am crabby and I feel bloated from the trillion grams of carbohydrates I ingested over the past few days. The extra-sad part is that normally eating some Cheez-Its would make me feel better.

Through the magic of the Google, I have learned that if running doesn't hurt, it is probably okay to do it. So my tentative plan is to head to the gym tomorrow and see how it feels, though frankly if I get dressed and drive all the way there and go through my entire warm-up and then get on the treadmill to find that it hurts, I am probably going to be inclined to keep running just because, good lord, that is a lot of BOTHER. Maybe I will do some sweet warm-up jogs in the living room beforehand just to test things out. You know, give the cats something new to tell their therapist.

Unimpressed with me generally.

In closing I would like to say that if you are in the Great White North, walk very slowly when you are outside lest you fall and injure your tailbone. Said injury will lead to crabbiness and, at least in my case, concerned BlackBerry messages from my father inquiring about the state of my coccyx. Since then my power mantra has switched from "IT'S NOT A TOOMAH" to this:

Napoleon: What are you doing here, Uncle Rico?
Uncle Rico: Grandma took a little spill at the sand dunes today. Broke her coccyx.

F my life. My mom suggested icing it but I draw the line at icing my butt. I must retain what little dignity I have to begin with.