Day 19: Stats and Other Gross Things

Disclaimer: If you're a man, you are not going to want to read this. Just skip this entry and next week I promise to reference Bill Simmons or Cam Newton. If you're a man and you have my same last name....I'm sorry, and I told you not to. If, by chance, you are a woman and would like to stay classy san diego and colorful language and taboo topics are not your cup of tea, then you might want to read The Ladies Home Journal instead and join us next week for our regular scheduled programming.
I'm actually going to talk about running today. When I started this blog November 1, I really intended to talk about training to become a runner.Yet every time I sat down to write, there were other emotions and ideas that surged out of my consciousness. But all of them were brought about by getting physically active again. It's been great. Not only does my body feel good but I feel stable emotionally and spiritually and I am once again at peace with myself and the universe. *Namaste* And while I've been experiencing a rebirth with my spiritual self, it is now time to talk about my physical journey. (Remember when I said at times, it would be ugly? That time is now.)
The good stuff:
Weight: I've lost 12 pounds! And yes I'm gonna put it out there. I started at 163. And at 151, I feel healthy, vibrant, and chinless. I can button my pants easier, I'm wearing the good day girdle again, and I've been able to say hello to my hipbones (I've missed you too!)
Time: With each long run I'm getting better. I'm now averaging 11 minutes a mile. I started at 14 so I've made extreme progress if you ask me. And my friend Sadie was right, if I can make it past mile 3 then I'm good to go...but mile 3 still sucks pie.
The bad:
Endurance: It's just not getting any easier! That time thing? It's only 11 minutes WHEN I'M SPEED WALKING. What does this even mean? That I'm so bad at running that I'm faster when I walk? Should I then just choose to speed walk? Confused....
The boob thing: Every single time that I begin to run, even if I don't want it to, my mind begins to daydream of inventing a little helicopter that could fly above me when I run and have a netting (like when you see them carrying something over the ocean); netting that could hold my boobs up for me, away from my body. And the thought of it actually makes me feel lighter for a moment and I smile. Ohhh that would be heaven. But alas, I'm brought back into reality when I feel the chafing begin to occur when my two bras are rubbing up and down on my rib cage like a washboard. I spoke of this nuisance one day to someone who is a frequent runner and they said "Oh you need bodyglide." Now, what the frickity frick? I want to run in a race not take a cheap second honeymoon at the Motel 6.......confused again.
The "other" thing:
Look, this isn't pleasant so I'm just gonna say it. Someone needs to explain to the muscles of my bladder that me running is not code for let's all go on a cigarette break. I mean, it's bad. And it's not getting better. I'm having to reroute back to my house halfway through the run just to change pants. Is this normal? Is this because I was so out of shape? Is it from having two babies? Do I need to wear depends? Do they even make depends in a middle-aged athletic woman size? Do I need to do those stupid keggle exercises? I mean, who does those without feeling like you need to go to church afterwards? And who the heck even knows how to do them anyway besides Jenna Jameson?
 I read these blogs about making sure you know where the porta pottys are on race day, and making sure you have gels....gels? For what? My feet? My mouth? My hair? And what are "throw aways"? These are the things I need answers to.
While I'm still having difficulties and beginning to stress about these details, I am thoroughly enjoying seeing what progress I have made. I finally made it to that point that people would say running is addictive; that it's exhilarating. Someone even compared it to sex, but now the way I see it, sex and running only have two things in common: I want to wear something that makes me look skinny and I'm pretty sure I'm gonna want a sandwich afterwards.
The reason I've chosen to be forthcoming about these things is because I need help. I need to know if it's going to get better, worse, or what else I need to be worried about. Take for instance when I was pregnant for the first time. I read every book available and knew that I should be worried about what I ate, what vitamins I took, and what my uterus was doing each month. Then I heard the urban myth legend. You know the one. The poop one. That a doctor goes in to deliver a baby, he takes his seat at the foot of the bed, tells her to push and BOOM! Mud pie all over his face and the delivery room. From that day forward, that's what I worried about. I was so scared of that happening that the night before I was scheduled, the rest of my family devoured a spread of mexican food while I ate a banana in hopes of cutting my chances of any delivery room mudpie slinging to a minimum. But what no one told me was as part of your admittance to the hospital, guess what, you get an enema! While that may not sound like a pleasant experience, I've never been more relieved, in more ways than one! (What, too much?)
Anyway, the point is this: women have these experiences. I feel like it's our duty as women to help other women who are struggling. When we have advice, we should give it. When we have a suggestion, we should share it. When we have stories, we should tell them. Especially if it helps them achieve or experience something that they're fearful of.
So please feel free to share with me this week. I need to know how long it took you to build endurance and better your time. I need to know what to expect on race day. And I really need to know if anyone else had trouble controlling their bladder during runs. Share it! (Or just message me) And share it proudly! We're all women! And we all pee...somewhere!
Quote of the Day: "If I have to pull on my big girl panties one more time, the elastic is going to break and then I'm really gonna have to show my ass!" - a refrigerator magnet at the flea market (also probably not in the Ladies Home Journal)
Song of the Day: Let It Be - The Beatles