Strong-willed

Today, while playing outside, my daughter took a step off the curb and into the street/parking lot. While there were no cars in sight, the rules are the same, "NO!"

She of course got her feelings hurt hearing her least favorite word on the planet and had a mini-meltdown... In the road I'm trying to pull her out of.

I picked her up and got her on the grassy embankment, which she continued to flail around screaming until she fell down face first. Did I mention she was head-first down the embankment? Yeah.

So she's throwing a tantrum and I'm trying to pick her up off the ground. She starts screaming more and refuses to let me help.

My daughter would actually rather be face down in the dirt than let me help her when she's mad at me.

Really kid? I'm trying to get your face out of the mud. You really don't want my help because I hurt your feelings and told you no?

Saying my daughter is strong-willed is a bit of an understatement here.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Sore loser

After more than 48 hours, the soreness is really starting to set in. (Who thought my running a 5K was a good idea?) The worst part about it is I'm not even that sore from the waist down.

My pain is actually from the waist up!  Yup, my legs feel fine-ish.  It's my poor arms, neck, shoulders and back that hurt!  Probably has something to do with shoving 30 extra pounds up and down mountains (they were barely hills, but it's my time to embellish here people).  Why the hell did I do this to myself?  (And when's the next one?)

I think the part that I hate the most about the soreness is that it just solidifies the fact that I'm weak.  I need to do more upper-body physical training.  And I really, really hate that.  I've never been as strong on top as I am on bottom.  I have genetically tested, amazingly strong thighs.  No seriously.  I was born with lower body strength. 

My upper body though, is weak.  Its only workout is to hold up my giant boobs. 

It's annoying to know that my old Navy chief was right about all his crazy fitness broo-ha-ha he went on and on about in GTMO.  I mean this guy was the kind of guy who would ride his bike for miles for fun, then get out and run what seems like the circumference of the island as training and then hop back on his bike to go pick up something across the island.  In my mind, he's a physical fitness masochist. (No offense Chief!)  His wife is just as physically fit.  I'm pretty sure their son (who's quite possibly the only kid on the planet cuter than my own) will be an Olympian some day.  He's well bread.

But this Chief is the kind of guy who went on and on about how you need a strong core and a strong upper body if you want to be a good runner.  I didn't listen much because I didn't want to be a good runner.  I still don't.  But I'd like to not hurt as much.  So I guess I should have listened. 

I guess it's time to start googling how to stretch and work on my core and upper body. 

My first 5K

Yesterday marked a first in my life. I voluntarily ran 3.1 miles. Let me tell you how awful of a decision that was...

First of all, I have no idea what the hell I was thinking signing up for the 5K in the first place. Well, no. I know why. I was promised a Chick-Fil-A sandwich at the end. And while I can drive a short distance to get one of those delicious sandwiches pretty much any time I'd like, I don't. I'm too lazy and cheap to drive out of my way for it. (Thank god I'm that lazy or I'd be the size of a house!)

Anyway, Abby was supposed to run with me. (This was her idea actually and I jumped on board.) But alas, her work schedule got in the way and she couldn't make it. I was ready to back out for no reason at all other than I didn't want to.

But since I had posted all over my Facebook page that I was running in this 5K, I really couldn't. (Well I could have, and then I would have gotten all sorts of questions, then felt guilty and then gotten depressed...) There was nothing more that I wanted than to oversleep and miss the race. Turns out, Elly wasn't going to let that happen since she was up bright and early (before 0500) for race day.

So we packed up and headed out. I don't like to wake up early. I hate being up at 0500. I hate driving to new locations I've never been in the dark. I hate paying tolls. And I hate even more when the toll guy asks me where I'm going so early in the morning and I tell him a 5K and he starts cheering. I grumbled a few not nice things back. He promptly gave me my change and let me through. What did the guy expect? I had voluntarily combined all of my least favorite things into one early morning. Why would I be nice to some poor, unsuspecting schmuck?

Get to the race, get my bib, and then it's the stand around and wait game. Not a big deal, except Elly is with me. She's not exactly patient. Especially if she's been up since 'O-Dark-Thirty.
 

(Don't mind the happy face.  I'm only smiling because I wanted a good picture, not because I was happy to be there.)

Here's a little tip for you. Don't bring a grumpy toddler to a race with you. Especially not your very first race. And especially if you're going to have to put up with her all day long.

Race starts and I wait for the masses to clear out before I start. I need to be at the back. I'm slow and I'm pushing a stroller.

Another tip, don't get your kid weighed four days before your first race because you'll only focus on how much extra weight your pushing when you head up a hill. You'll only bitch about the extra 23lbs 4oz plus stroller dead weight that you're lugging around. Especially if that dead weight sleeps the whole way.

Also, it'll make you extra angry when you see young children pass and lap you. I swear, I wanted to trip those little brats. However, one day I want that to be Elly.

So there I was, trudging away at my first 5K. When out of nowhere, the speed-lightening runners were already on their way back. I seriously was just hitting the one mile marker. Assholes. The entire rest of the race all I could think of was "Those asshats are going to eat all the chicken sandwiches!" Run faster!

But I completed the race. And as I crossed the finish line I was so happy. That may be what they call a "runner's high." I don't think it was. I think it was more of a "high on accomplishment" kind of high. I was very proud of myself that I had done it. Who cares that I was as slow as molasses. Who cares that I walked half of it. I had finished. That's what was most important.

And four seconds after that "high" hit me, I totally crashed and thought, what the hell was I thinking? I'm never doing this again! And immediately after that I thought, "Ok, so the next race on my base is in October and it's only two miles. Then the one after that is in November and it's the Turkey Trot 5K. I can do both of those. I should totally look into actually doing the Hot Chocolate 5K this year."

This is the biggest farce ever. As much as I hate running, and as much as it sucked doing my 5K, I'm now hooked. I now want to do another one and see if I can run the whole thing. And then I want to see how much faster I can get. This shit is addicting.

I told Abby yesterday that I now want to run next year's Army 10-miler. WHO THE HELL AM I? WHAT THE F*#% HAPPENED HERE? I told her that no matter what, never let me run a freakin' marathon. Because I DO NOT want to be one of those people. I mean it. Don't let me ever add that shit to my life's goal list.

I hate running and I hate even more that I might be growing a little addicted to it.

(This is at the finish line.  I'm in the bright yellow shirt behind the cow's hoof.)