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?

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!

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.