Best worst decision ever

I've made some bad decisions in life.  Any of my high school photos can tell you I don't know how to style my hair. I typically make dinner decisions based off what would best be topped by cheese, not by what's best for my waist line.

But the decision I've made recently is easily the best worst decision ever.

Abby (my BFF) made a bold decision to get motivated and organize a team to run the Marine Corps Marathon this year for the organization she works for. She was apprehensive and gung-ho all at once.  I mean, she's a Marine vet and has run the MCM once before.  It was the organizing a team of 25 people to come out and run in honor of Disabled American Veterans PLUS running a marathon that was daunting for her. 

So I did what every best friend does and said, "Sure! I'll help you."

Somehow (my memory is a little fuzzy how this happened) we got from "That's so exciting! I'm all about helping you organize the team and finding runners," to "Hey! Why don't I run it with you?"

Yeah. I decided to run the Marine Corps Marathon... just like that.

How does that even fucking happen? I HATE running.  In fact, some of my most popular blogs talk about how much I really hate running.  Like really, really hate it.

So why not go ahead and decide I want to run 26.2 fucking miles.  Psssh! No big deal.

Then I started to think about the people I've seen running the MCM when I cheered on Abby. I saw tons of disabled veterans running.  I saw a double-amputee running.  I saw a couple blind guys running it.  I saw guys juggling and girls in tutus. I saw thousands and thousands of others out there running it like it was no big deal.  All in support of the Marine Corps and the sacrifices service members and veterans have made.

That's when I realized that if they can all do it, so could I. I have no excuse in the world big enough to get me out of it.  Because if a guy without legs can run 26.2 miles, then my fat ass needs to get out there and suck it up. 

It helps that I'm running to bring awareness to others about DAV and what they do to support veterans.  It also helps that Abby will be there to support me. And it also really helps when the MCM public affairs team posts videos like this that make me cry and motivate me to do it. Because honestly, I can, I just need to get off my ass and do it already.

So from now until Oct. 27, please expect plenty of bitching and complaining updates about running to go along with the crazy crap Elly does. And if you'd like to travel to the D.C. area to support me along the way, feel free.  Because honestly, I'm going to need it!!!

Linking up this week with Yeah Write. It's a great community for writers who blog and bloggers who write.

Chubrub

I hate running.  No seriously, I do.  I hate running and always have.  But I've finally hit my limit of being round and would like to be less round.  The fastest way to that is by not eating brownies every day (not going to happen) or at least only eat a few a week and start exercising. 

So what did I do?  I started the couch to 5K program.  I hate it already.  But I hate being fat just a little bit more.  I haven't always been fat.  Only in the last few years (5ish) have a I really been working on packing on the L-Bs.  At least I have skinny pics of myself to look at and day dream about the days of single digit pants.  I have a physical goal I can look at and obtain.

Back to running.

Running seems to be the "in" thing.  Everyone's running.  I hate it.  But I also like to be a part of fads.  That's why I own an Iphone. 

I got my ass out of bed this morning for another day of training on the C25K thingy.  And by this morning, I mean early.  How early?  Not even the dog, who loves to run (bitch), would get up to go out with me. 

As part of my "I quit" plan, a part of wanting to run was to feel comfortable in my running clothes.  So I got some cute new, color-coordinating shorts and a shirt.  I tested the shorts out as much as you can in a dress room without falling face first into a wall or mirror.  But I thought, "cool, these will work."  Wrong.  Turns out that my fat thighs are now so fat that when I run in shorts I get chubrub.  What's chubrub?  If you don't know, you're skinny.  If you do know, then you know how much it sucks. 

I got back from my jog/walk this morning and went to go look up the crap real runners use to make sure they prevent chaffing.  Having just done some god awful running, my mind was foggy.  Instead of searching whatever it's called that runners use, I instead searched for "Astroglide." 

Uh, yeah.  So at 6 a.m. this morning my google was going nuts with lubricants best suited for another form of physical fitness.  To add to my demise, Elly woke up bright and early (but not early enough for a jog with me... SEE!  No one wants to run!) and was extra clingy.  I thought for sure she was going to have to join me in the shower if I was ever going to get ready for work.

But on the plus side, I finished another day of C25k.  And I'm signed up for my very first 5K!  I've invested the money (which I vow to stop wasting) and Abby is signed up as well (this is her fault).  It's September 8.  So stay on my ass (there's plenty of room) and make sure I don't waste my money.

But really.... I hate running.  I'm a moron.  Kill me now.

Check me out on Yeah Write.

Adventures from the Marine Corps Marathon

Sunday, Abby and her boyfriend Bif finished the Marine Corps Marathon.  Talk about exciting! I mean, 26.2 miles is just NUTS!  To willingly want to spend HOURS Running... well... we all know how I feel about that.  Abby and I have decided the next marathon she'll be participating in is a RHWOWhatever marathon.  And I'll be joining her with the ice cream.

Needless to say, I'm very proud of her.  It's truly amazing and it's one more thing she can cross off her bucket list.  (Here's a tip: don't try to play the one-up game with her.  She's been to war, been shot at, and now finished a marathon.  She can kick your ass!)

I was also really impressed with how many people came out to run the marathon.  People of all ages, shapes and sizes.  I saw a kid who looked like he was 12 running.  I think he was actually 14.  Still, that's just nuts!  I saw some very senior looking men running.  They clearly were older than my grandparents.  Unbelievable! 

I saw countless amputees running and cycling.  At mile marker 11, I was standing next to a family who was cheering on their dad.  He was a double amputee.  When he saw them in the crowd, he pulled over and dropped off his arm.  (Yes, he actually dropped off his ARM.) Apparently it was bothering him. 

And I saw at least 2 blind guys running with their seeing guides.  To see a blind guy running a marathon is pretty amazing.  If you aren't a runner and you already felt bad about the amputees kicking your non-athletic ass running, watch a blind guy pass you by.  You'll hit non-runner rock bottom right there.  (And then the 12 year old kid running will pass you by and kick you while you're down.)

I saw at least 3 penguins, a couple bananas, a woopie cushion, 3 guys in suits, 5 guys barefoot, tons in those stupid 5-finger shoes, one guy in moon shoes, plenty of tutus... on men and women (mostly on women though), a woman with booby tassles (the kind strippers at 'Gentlemen's Clubs' wear), a donut and Dunkin' Donut coffee couple, 3 hot shirtless guys, a couple bumblee bees and lady bugs, and TONS of running pumpkins. 

I saw a lot of funny signs too!  Abby's sign on the back of her camelbak said:

Needless to say, she's just as funny as I am, if not more.  (Side note: She's 90% sure that Drew Carey commented on her sign during the run.  She only got a glimpse of his profile, but she's pretty sure it was him.  If a professional comedian thinks you're funny, then you're definitely pretty funny.)

Other signs of note Abby and I saw during the day: 'You're one step closer to beer!' 'Staying up all night to make this sign was hard too.' 'Hey perfect stranger, you're doing a great job.'

One thing that I did see a lot of was good and BAD race spectator behavior!  Here's a tip, if you're going to cheer on at a race, then you'd better learn the dos and don'ts or be prepared for me to yell at you (like I did to the dad and his kids and the group of middle-aged women who kept standing in the street, clogging the path for the RUNNERS). 

Do NOT, I repeat, do NOT stand in the road and block the path for runners!  They've got 15.2 more miles to go and don't need to be tripped up by your dumb ass who can't get a good enough glance at the people running past you. 

Also, don't run in front of them to get to the other side of the road.  You wouldn't run in front of a speeding bus to get to the other side for a better look at it would you? Then why the hell would you run in front of a SWARM of stampeding people running at you? Unless of course you're practicing for Pamplona 2012. 

Do cheer on the runners.  But don't tell them they're almost there when they have more than 15 miles to go.  Even as a non-runner I know that.  Telling them that is like telling a fat kid that he can have an entire cake when you've really only got a mini-cupcake to give him.  Such a letdown!

The best way to cheer them on is to call out their numbers or for the cool kids who put their names on their shirt (don't worry, this is normal runner behavior.  It doesn't mean they should be riding the "special" bus.) you could yell RUN JIM RUN!!! (However, if you're one of those people with a crazy name because your parents didn't like you, maybe you should go with a nick name since morons like me can't figure out how to pronounce your name. Especially if you're speeding past me in a heard.)

I know the next time I cheer at a marathon (it won't be Abby's since she's vowed never to do it again.  She's going with the 'one and done' policy.  So we'll be cheering on Bif) I'm totally bringing a cowbell and a bullhorn... one with an airhorn in it.  Because I want to be so loud that you can hear my cheering you on the entire running course.  By the way, I'm available for all your cheering needs.  Just let me know when you're next sporting event is and I'll be there... with bells and a bullhorn!

New Goal, New Desire

This Sunday, Abby is running in the Marine Corps Marathon.  This will be her first and she's super nervous.  I am excited for her.  She's excited about the dunkin' donuts at mile marker 24.  We're both fat asses.  The difference is she's more willing to run to ensure it's not so obvious... unlike me.

She mentioned tonight that she would be devastated if they ran out of donuts by the time she got to mile 24.  She even threatened to quit right then and there.

My part in this marathon is to motivate her.  So what did I promise?  To make sure that there would be a batch of no-bake cookies at the finish line waiting for her. 

So while her goal is to finish the marathon, my goal is to not finish off an entire batch of cookies before she gets there. 

Now, there's no way (not even on a full out hungry day) I could finish off that many cookies.  However, that's not to say I couldn't find a way to barter with the other people sitting around waiting for their fitness-minded loved ones to finish the run.  I'm thinking 2 cookies could easily get me 30 minutes in a comfy chair.  And then I figured out what my real new goal is!

To bring you all a blog of what it's like to be at the end of the marathon waiting... Is it like a big swap meet?  Will I really be swapping my cookies for other people's services? Or will we be swapping battle stories of race spectating past?  Who knows?

What I do know is that I have no desire to run 26.2 miles.  But I will be cheering on my crazy friend who does have the desire!

Pumkin Pie and Jail Time

Fall is by far my favorite time of year.  I love the cooler weather, the clothes, the sights and sounds, and most importantly I LOVE the food.  Fall food means the best of the best: squash, pumpkin anything, apple pies, and the big kahuna: THANKSGIVING DINNER! It's like a fat kid's delight! 

And this time of year brings back a very strong memory for me.  It's something that I did about this time last year.  I'd like to say it wasn't me, but then it wouldn't make for a very funny blog.  It's a little something involving pumpkin pie, my hormonal rage, and me... nearly beating a woman up and a punk-ass teenager. 

About this time last year I was about 4 months pregnant.  I had cravings, but my cravings consisted of people who had food needed to leave my smelling radius because everything made me want to puke.  I was sick nearly every day until about the 6 month mark.  So the fact that one night I even got an actual craving that wouldn't pass after the thought of it made me dry-heave was a little extraordinary!

It was after 10pm and Abby had just left to go back to her place.  Stoofy was in Kuwait in the midst of his contract out there.  So I was on my own and I needed pumpkin pie.  And I mean NEEDED it!

So I climbed into bed thinking, I can let this pass.  If I fall asleep, I won't want it anymore and I'll be fine.  That lasted all of 5 minutes and then I climbed out of bed, put on something decent to go out in and hopped into my car.  I was on the hunt for fresh baked pumpkin pie.

I knew that being the end of September meant there would be pumpkin pie available. (It’s fall time for God’s sake!) I knew exactly what store would have it too.  Harris Teeter.  Because I had been there the day before and saw the pies lined up for display at the front of the store. 

At 10:10PM I arrive at HT and walk through the door.  I can't wait to get to the pies all sitting there waiting for me to snatch up and eat on the car ride home.  Except when I got there, they were out of pumpkin pies.  They had sweet potato pie, but everyone knows that's totally different.  Even if you smear it with whipped cream, I knew I would be able to tell the difference.

So I scoured the rest of the store.  I went through every pie in the bakery section.  Checked behind random loaves of bread just in case some jerk tried to hide one for themselves until they got off shift.  I'd show that asshole!  But alas, there was no pie.  I checked the freezer section thinking, ok I'll just find myself a Sarah Lee and pop it in the oven.  That bitch creates pies that take an HOUR to bake! Uh, I needed my pie fix immediately!

What's a hormonal pregnant woman to do?  Search the store and buy cinnamon rolls for breakfast the next morning, juice and lemon poppy seed muffins because they've got the best ones.  And that'll hold me over until I get to the next store.  I did pass the baking section and thought, damn, it'll take too long to bake my own pie.  I'll just go to Giant and get a pie there.

As I check out, the cashier asks if I found everything ok.  Uh no, you do you have any pumpkin pies left in the back? I'm seriously craving them and I want one. 

And the pimple-faced douche bag bagger turns to me and says, "I bought the last ones about an hour ago.  (ha ha) If you want a slice I'll sell you one in an hour when I go on my break. (HAHAHAHA)."

To which I respond, "Listen here you fucking asshole, I'm pregnant and I want a fucking pie now.  Don't be a prick and tease me."

I quickly paid and left the store before the manager, who was headed my way, could escort me out. 

Now I'm just pissed! I want a fucking pie and if I could figure out which car was that kid's I'd consider breaking in for a slice.  Then I decide going to jail tonight wasn't going to be the best decision... so on to the next store.

10:35PM- I arrive at Giant and make a beeline to the bakery section.  I leave no slice of pie unturned in my quest for pumpkin.  They've got cherry, apple, sweet potato, pretty much everything but pumpkin.  And nothing is going to do until I get a slice of pumpkin.  So I start sprinting (as fast as a pregnant woman can go) to the freezer section hoping I can find a pie that doesn't take an hour to bake.  But as I get to the freezer section I start to search people's carts as I pass them, hoping to find my pot of gold.

Low and behold, I do!  There is a woman with a pumpkin pie in her cart.  So I rush up to her in a panicked frenzy and ask her (in my mind it was with good, friendly intentions.  It came across as scary and abrasive) if I can have her pumpkin pie.  She says no.

I explain to her I am pregnant and I really NEED that pie.

She says no.

I dig in my purse, pull out a $20 and start shouting I'LL GIVE YOU $20 IF YOU GIVE ME THAT PIE! I'M FUCKING PREGNANT AND I NEED THAT FUCKING PIE!

She starts to walk away scared.  I take a few steps after her yelling... it did me no good.

Back to the freezer section.  And yes, they do have pies that take only 25 minutes to bake... but they’re all out.  I'm nearly in tears and I want to scream at the top of my lungs (which I already had at the woman with the pie). 

I storm back out of the store feeling defeated.  But across the street I see the hazing red light of a bulls eye sign.  FUCK YEAH! Target is open until 11PM tonight!  And it's only 10:50!!!!  I zip across the street and throw it into park.

I don't think I've ever hustled as fast as I did to get into the store.

I run to the freezer section and find a pumpkin pie, and it only takes 25 minutes to bake!  FINALLY, VICTORY IS MINE!!!  But it's a bittersweet victory.  Because deep down I know it's not going to be a great pie.  I know that with the time it took to track down this pie, I could have baked one in my house already and be sitting in my bed with a warm slice topped with crumb topping like I like and a dollop of whip cream on top.  But I don't fucking care.  I just want the pie.

So I purchase the pie (and vanilla ice cream… ala mode, DUH!), speed home and throw that sucker into the oven.  25 minutes later (plus the time it took to preheat the oven and the time it took to cool and set), I dish up my pie slice and dig in.  Only to find that it sucks just as much as I knew it would.

I go to bed even more pissed and in tears that I didn't have good pie, that I nearly accosted a woman and teenage kid.  And I'm even more pissed that I didn't just buy the ingredients and make my own pie.  Because now that it’s nearly midnight, going back to the store to buy the ingredients and bake another pie is just flat out CRAZY!!!!

Lesson learned: when you have a craving, it's just easier to make it yourself.  And it's less likely to get you arrested. 

Running: Still Hating Life

So, after a couple weeks of running, I still pretty much hate it.  I mean, I truly hate its stinking guts.  It's awful. 

Listening to Abby telling me about how her boyfriend went on a run before his race just makes me want to pull a Tonya Harding on his Nancy Kerrigan knee.  I mean seriously.  Who the HELL RUNS BEFORE A RACE?!?!?!

Jerk. 

Makes all the rest of us look bad.  Me in particular. 

Because no matter how hard I try right now, I am not exactly getting any faster.  I will say I am going further, but we're not talking by leaps and bounds.

And then this morning on a friend's status update (which by the way, I hate the fancy Facebook update) I come across this little gem:

                                                  (And I still hate everything about it!)

And my first thought is: Jackass! I am bitter because I am a turtle and a mile is a long, long, LONG distance.  Two miles is twice as long, three sucks thrice as much and well whatever the 5K is, 3 point whatever miles, sucks even more.  And no matter what I do, a mile's measurement is never going to get shorter.  Unless somehow I can take over the world and be THE world leader, it's just not going to happen.

The only thing that is going to happen is I'm going to just have to suck it up and run more and find some kind of motivation.

Lucky for me, I came across this touching story. 

Really kid? Now you're just making me look bad.  Because not only am I crying over how touching it is that this kid had so much compassion for another athlete, he also had the ability to carry him a half mile, then continue on his damn race. 

I feel like a slug.  I better not see a double amputee on skates again today (I say again, because a couple weeks ago I met one at a hockey game for wounded warriors), or I might want to off myself, which is the same feeling I get when I run.

Basically, I'm still waiting for that so called 'runner's high' everyone's (my running friends that is) talking about. 

BOOBS!

I couldn't come up with anything catchier than the word BOOBS for a blog all about boobs.  Because honestly, boobs are generally pretty catchy all on their own.  Or at least mine are.  (They catch plenty of food I accidentally drop, which in turn leaves a stain.  They're the reason I need new clothes... that and my little drool monster.)

To say I have big boobs would be to say Niagara Falls is just a waterfall.  It's a bit of an understatement... considering they're in your face.  I've been blessed with the bosom, but I wouldn't consider it a happy blessing. 

And it seems the older I get, the bigger they get.  I wish it was like when you're a kid and every year your relatives send you a check for how old you turned that year.  (By the way, I'll be anxiously waiting at my mailbox this November for a box full of $29 checks people!)  Instead, with each birthday candle I get an extra ounce of flesh hanging off my chest.  Awesome.  I'm worried that by the time I hit retirement, my boobs will be collecting a Social Security payment all of their own. 

And having a baby hasn't made the problem any better.  In fact, it's only made it worse.  Because I am the Dairy Queen.  And when the Dairy Queen is full, the girls have increased a whole cup-size.  I don't even know how that is freakin' possible?  But it is! 

When I was pregnant, I grew huge.  And I got worried that when the milk came in it would be unbearable.  I was worried I wouldn't even know if the milk had come in yet because how would I be able to tell?  A very wise friend of mine explained to me that if you have to ask, then it hasn't come in yet... because YOU'LL KNOW IT!  She said it's like you all of a sudden have bocce balls.

HAHAHAHAHAHA! Bocce balls.  As if!  Let's try bowling balls!

At least that's what they feel like!  Don't even get me started on the dangers of running before pumping milk.  Do you remember those old Dolly Parton jokes you told (and barely understood) in elementary school about how when she comes back from a jog she's got two black eyes?  Yeah, there's some truth in that fucking joke.  And it's painfully not that funny.

Another huge problem (pun intended) with big boobs is finding clothes that fit.  Over the weekend Abby and I went shopping for grown-up clothes for her new job and my job interview (I aced it by the way!).  And I had two great dressed that I tried on and they fit perfectly... except in the chesticle region. 

And as I look in the mirror and realize there's nothing I could do but laugh, I shout across the dressing room door to Abby and say, "The dress looks good, but my boobs are too big for it!"

To which she replies, "That's something you'll never hear me say in my life." 

Because as much as it sucks to have jumbotrons, it can't possibly be any better to have barely there's either.  Maybe she and I can find a 2 for 1/ bosom buddy special at the plastic surgeons?

I HATE RUNNING

I don't think the title of this blog does my feelings justice.  I truly fucking hate running.  I would do just about anything else.  Actually there is only one thing I'd rather do less than run, and that would be go to work at my current military job. 

So if you're keeping tabs, here's how it goes from LEASET to GREATEST things I'd rather do with my time:
10) Report for military duty
9) Run
8) Get my legs cut off by a dull butter knife
7) Lose an eye to a red-hot pitchfork
6) Have each and every fingernail pulled out one-by-one by a Viet Cong prison camp dictator
5) Drink my husband's weight in melted butter
4) Drink my weight in milk
3) Eat salads five days a week
2) Eat oreos for every meal
And ultimately, 1) I'd much rather just wake up and magically be skinny.

But needless to say, if I'm ever going to get my perky ass back without having a baby in the next few months, running is my best option.

Why am I running?  I actually would really like to join a roller derby team.  But to do that, I actually need to be in some kind of shape other than round.  And I'm not nearly ready for wheels yet.  So I'm trying to set some attainable goals to get to the derby queen goal.  First up... run even just a little, then run a 5k in December (granted, it's a Hot Chocolate 5K.  So after I complete it I get a hunk of chocolate.  Good enough motivation for me!)  Prove to Stoofy (and myself, honestly) that I can set these goals and achieve them, buy a pair of skates and find a Fresh Meat club and get skating!!!

So, I've put on my big girl pants (literally) and my running shoes and got my ass moving.  Here's what I've learned in the last few nights of running:
1) It's fucking dark running at night.  You'd think that running on base would provide some better lighting, but you'd be wrong.
2) Frogs or toads or whatever the fuck is hoping alongside me on the sidewalk are gross and scary and need to stop following me.
3) I run as fast as my 79 year old grandmother mall-walks.
4) I am a little bitch when it comes to running.  And I run with a constant monologue of bitching, that and the sweet motivational tunes of Ke$ha.
5) Running past the wounded warrior transition barracks makes me feel guilty about being a little bitch, so I suck it up and run faster.
6) Constantly going through the list of things I'd rather do than run helps take my mind off of the running.
7) I hate the assholes I see with 26.2 stickers on their cars.
8) I'd really like to slash their tires.
9) But if I did that, then I'd have to stop running and then I'd never keep going.
10) Lucky for those assholes!

 So if you see a crazy ass woman "running" down the road in the dark with her glow-in-the-dark safety belt, talking to herself, yell something motivational.  But if you've got a "I <3 runners" sticker on your car, I'll probably flip you the bird because I fucking hate running.


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