I sorta cheated.

It's not REALLY my fault. Instead, I blame life. Yes, that's it. Life is to blame.

For what? For making me a lazy ass.

First there was Wisconsin. And cheeeeeese. And beer. And some more cheese.

Then, the following weekend, there was Memphis. And beer. And cheese grits. And fried okra. And fried chicken. And shrimp and grits. And banana pudding. (Banana pudding may, in fact, be the love of my life.)

And then I got back to Chicago, full of two weekends worth of delicious-yet-sinful food. And I was itchy from being attacked by bugs. And then I was... well, lazy. And then it was raining. And I was still lazy.

The point of this series of excuses is that's it's been a whee while since I ran. Like, um, since Sept. 21. And it's Oct. 3. Yeah. Classy, Ashley.

Especially since there's less than a month until our 5K.

With the time crunch coming, I skipped a step of training and plowed straight on to week 4, which amounts to 1.5 miles of running and a half mile of walking. And you know what? I didn't feel like I was going to puke. Which I consider an above-average victory.

Of course, there's a good chance going to feel less-than-peachy tomorrow. But hey, who the hell ever thought I could run a mile and a half? (So what if it's interspersed with a little bit of walking.) I sure as hell never thought so.

So moral of the story: a) I'm a lazy ass. And b) go me.

Shawn ... how are you doing?

A post in several parts

Part 1: What NOT to do...
Run Week 3; Day 1 on Wednesday.
Run Week 3; Day 2 on Monday. After spending the weekend drinking beer and eating cheese and s'mores (but not together, that'd be GROSS) in Wisconsin. Oh, and 20 minutes after downing left-over Pad Thai.



Result? Yeowch. I made it through, but not without some serious huffing and puffing. And I'm pretty sure some geriatric dude with a walker passed me. Whatever. He's probably hopped up on Ensure.

Part 2: What to buy...
I refuse to wear shorts in public. Refuse. For the sake of humanity. (Exceptions given if it's 90+ degrees and I'm on my bike. But certainly not when I'm running. So I've been wearing my trusty cropped work out pants. They're fine, but they lack pockets. Which presented some logistical challenges for iPods and keys.

Last week I picked up some awesome fall/winter running pants from REI. They're totally comfortable and have hidden pockets. They also have the added bonus of making my ass look scrumptious.


And today, I snagged some just-below-the-knee cropped yoga pants from Old Navy. (I'd show you a link, but their Web site hates me.) The best part, outside of the $15 price tag, and comfy stretchy fabric, is the big deep pockets. Pockets and not shorts? Score.

Part 3 ... Ouch.
Anyone have any suggestions on how to stretch the arch of your foot? I feel like the bottom of my feet go on strike sometimes when running. Suggestions welcomed!

Part 4 ... Music.
Sad and humiliating as it is to admit, I have a new power song. Eddie Money's "Take Me Home Tonight."



Judge me and you die.

Week 3, baby

It's 64 degrees. Breezy. The leaves are changing. Basically, a kick ass evening for a one. I'm gonna OWN this week three work out!

GRRRRR. Bring it!

In which my iPod fails.

Over on my other blog, I've written about my completely inability to be alone with my thoughts. It's among the many, many reasons why I decided to use a podcast while training for this, so I know when to run, when to walk, and get to listen in between without looking at my watch every 10 seconds to see that I still had much farther to run.

My plan was kicking ass until about midway through tonight's run when the iPod battery crapped out. (Incidently, it stopped right as the crazy old homeless man was screaming at me, something about being fat, I think. Sigh.)

So, since I had no watch, I have no idea if I ran longer than I was supposed to or less than I should have. I tried to count my 90 seconds of running and my two minutes of walking, but I think my head defaulted to counting either my breaths or my footsteps. Oh well.

Shit happens, right? And I still got a workout.

How's it going in your world, Shawn??

I'm sorry. Is that a cold breeze from hell?

I was expecting this run to be horrible. A heaving, wheezing, barfing kind of bad.

The last day I ran was Saturday. Which, if you're counting, was FIVE days ago. And it wasn't lovely. Then, thanks to a combination of crazy work, crazy wallowing, and the need to drink beer because of said work and said wallowing, I just haven't gotten around to running this week.

But after a midday meltdown related to a SNAFU with the power company, I knew I could use the chance to run. So I walked outside, decided there were too many mosquitoes and then promptly turned around and tried to go into my building's fitness room. But fate apparently didn't want that to happen, since the treadmill was having some kind of electrical seizure (note a trend with me and power today) so I said screw it (ok, I said another word that sounds like duck), braved the bugs and went outside.

This week's run was more challenging that the first week. It called for 90 seconds of running and 2 minutes of walking. Repeat six times.

And there's the thing. The big, crazy, miraculous, hallelujah sorta thing: I had fun. And I wasn't dying.

I know. WTF? Right? Me. The girl who hates running. Who's always hated running. Enjoyed herself? It was warm, but not too warm. Humid, but not too humid. And you know what, running for 90 seconds isn't very hard. And I felt great doing it. I made sure to stretch before. And after. And while I'm sure my skin tastes like a salt like right now (which probably explains why the Mutt Dog won't stop licking me) I feel really good.

This can only mean one thing. There's a cold front headed our way from hell.

Bugs are protein, right?

Note to self: running at dusk, along a big-ass stretch of grass, trees and wildflowers even in early fall weather means gnats. Swarms of them. Thousands of them. Crunching. Through. My. Teeth.

(phhht. phhht. gag. gulp. )

Also, those assholes BITE!

Outside of my up-close-and-personal encounter with the invading gnat army, today's run was actually pretty nice. Maybe it's because at 65 degrees the weather is perfect. Maybe it's because I've actually been eating right. Maybe it's because I stretched before I ran and tried to spend time doing it afterward. (Although, walking down the stairs to take the pup on her before-bed-walk wasn't the most fun thing ever.) Maybe it's because I told myself to actually try to run, instead of doing my patented Slow Girl Shuffle(TM). But, I felt pretty good tonight. I tried to push myself during the run portion. And managed to catch my breath with time to spare on the walking segment.

Ever the optimist, Shawn tried to convince me it was because the training is working. I don't think it's possible after just two runs. I'm pretty sure I was just trying to get the hell away from the bugs.

But hey, whatever works, right?

Lactic acid can bite me.

I either need to stretch more or find some magic way to levitate up and down the stairs to my second-floor condo.

Whimper. Whine. Quads. Hate. Me.

P.S. For the record, that drawing in no way, shape, or form resembles me. Liked I'd really wear a leotard and Keds. Ha. Right. Stupid interwebs.

She's off.

Text sent to Shawn today at 3:16 p.m.: "Gasp. Wheeze. Huff. Puff. Pant."

Translation? Week 1; Day 1 completed.

It wasn't pretty. (Ok, well, the scenery along the lakeshore path and Montrose Harbor was. My performance left something to be desired.) But it could have definitely sucked more. So, I'll look at that as a glass-half full approach.

In our first post, Shawn and I mentioned that we're following the Couch-to-5K program. It's essentially structured interval training, designed to build up cardio and endurance over nine weeks. For the first week, after a short warm up, you run for 60 seconds, and walk for 90. Repeat eight times. You repeat the workout three times during the week. Each week, you run more and walk less.

I don't want to spend the entire run looking at my watch, or worse, counting the slooooowly moving second hand. So I'm running to a The Chubby Jones Podcast. After the first work out, I pretty much decided the chick who put together the podcast kicks total ass. She's obviously running while she records it, and cuts into the music only to tell you when to run, when to stop, when to walk, when to not. But she also thinks the way I do. And I definitely laughed out loud when she said "well, this sucks." Or "Maybe I shouldn't have eaten that Thai food for lunch."

Snicker. Somehow, she kept me running AND made me hungry at the same time.

A few technical notes/thoughts:

_ I need to own more workout clothing with pockets. Because I'm not sure I'm going to want to stuff an iPod between two sports bras for the whole nine weeks. (What!? Totally not an overshare. I look at it as more athletic engineering geniusness. I needed some place to store it and had no pockets and no armband. And thanks to trial and error during triathlon training, I learned that sweat + electronics stored in cleavage = BAD IDEA.

_ I've got a shopping problem, so I'm a little jealous of Shawn's new shoes. This jealousy is, of course, totally misplaced, since I did the same thing in May when I got the crazy idea to do a triathlon. I should note, however, that I did NOT choose my shoes because they happen to be pink. (See picture above.) It was just sheer planetary alignment that the dudes at the running store told me they'd work best for me. I was trying to explain this to Shawn. His response? "Who knew fate was color-coordinated?" Smartass.

_ I will make a zillion dollars if I can invent some kind of athletic Spanx. Or, like, a sports bra for your ass.

Getting ready. But first? A beer.

Shawn bought new sneakers tonight. I booked a massage and had a beer. That pretty much sums up our different approaches to preparing for this.

On my other blog, I've written a lot about my disdain for all things running. In fact, people have FOUND my blog by googling the phrase "I don't run. Like ever." I secretly love this because those are my people.

Even though I somehow managed to drag my sorry self through a triathlon almost two months ago (although, I walked most of the 5k, so don't be impressed), I'm not a good runner. Too much impact. Too much striking of pavement. Too much bouncing and jiggling. I'll happily take an hour of laps or a solid bike ride any day instead of pounding (literally) the pavement.

But, I guess that's why we're doing this. Right, Shawn? RIGHT!? We both want to be better runners. In my case, I just want to be a runner. Who cares about better. I'd love to be able to run and feel the way I do in my dreams when I'm running and it's like I'm leaping! Through air! Over rainbows! With puppies! And not like it does in reality when my lungs feel like they're being pulled out of my rib cage with a turkey baster.

Still, I think our dueling personalities are going to make this fun. Or at least entertaining for our coworkers who already are watching us with some level of curious disbelief entertainment. (Note the first comment on yesterday's post.)

After all, he's optimistic. I'm cynical. He blushes. I'm brash. He's committed. By the end of this, I might have to be.

Witness this IM conversation we had this evening, after I read his blog post that talked about adding some sprints between training days.

Ashley: Explain this whole running on days off bit.

Shawn: So Jason says if you do some short distance sprinting on off days, then that helps your muscles build more speed and stamina. So you'd do like 800m dashes.

Ashley: Hahahaha. Sprinting.

Shawn: Yeah.

Ashley: Um, that's a half mile sprint.

Shawn: Well, that's what he does.

Ashley: Well, he's INSANE.

Shawn: I think maybe 100 might be enough.

Ashley: Do you know what kinds of wild animals I'll have to be chased by in order to sprint for 800 meters? Like, WILDEBEESTS. Bears. And not the cute cuddly, likes honey kind. I could continue with more animals, but I think you get my point.

Shawn: The Rabbit of Caerbannog? With its sharp pointy teeth?

Ashley: Yes. Although, that might still make me want to stop and pet it. I like bunnies.

Since I get a gold star for getting his Monty Python reference, and because I don't want him to hate me for calling his BFF Jason insane (Jason, I'm sure you're not insane. You're just a marathoner. I don't know what the American Psychiatric Association says about people who routinely run 26.2 miles.) I'm leaving you guys with this. And then, I'm going back to my beer.