100 Miles with One Step, etc

Okay, so here I am at the gym, having got up 1.5 hours earlier than I normally would on a school morning. Actually, I woke naturally and in alarm a further 12 minutes before the alarm so that’s, 1.6 hours, I guess. Anyhoo, it’s fucking early and I’m here. 

I had high hopes of finishing a movie from my Keanu-athon but the kids (or, let’s face it, Husband,) put my ipad spmewhere and I couldn’t find it before I left. I managed to scrounge his earphones since I left mine in the bedroom, and I finally made it out the door. Gah, I’m tired.

I played Golden Girls Monopoly with friends last night, 10 out of 10 highly recommend, would definitely play again. Had the obligatory cheesecake and managed not to eat the remaining half of the cake before bed, or after Husband had gone to bed. I googled the calorie count (why? WHY?) and it wasn’t as bad as I was expecting. I managed to cut the slices thinner than I would normally do, but it’s a new year and new me, right?! But I had two, so. I think the two slices equal more than one serving, so by using that same equation, 1 serving = 500cals, ÷3, × 2, still equals too much whipped cream but I’m here bright and early, ergo, pretty sure I’m breaking even so far.

I asked Husband about the event in September that has the 40m bike ride, and he said 2 hours, I think, for him to ride it. He’s “a cyclist” so I need to add at least another hour to the cycling section of my exercise regime, [side note: is it a regime if it’s only 3 days in?], which gives me a total of exactly 1 hour in my cycling regime [side note: if the answer can be ‘yes’, then I can be strict enough with myself to do it]. I am 20 minutes into that aspect of the regime and I must say, my will to live is flagging.

. . .

I finished, I survived, I will exercise another day. Keep on fighting (one of the) good fight(s).

Red Wine & Sweat Pants

It’s hard to stay focused on one thing when amazing other things are right in center field. Take not getting soft and flabby, or softer and flabbier, for instance. 

 My NYE resolution is to make more time for exercise, which means eating right, as well. I eat pretty well, but it’s been easy to eat not well this past year coz every other week, it’s someone’s birthday at work or there’s a faux holiday to celebrate with delicious snacky treats in the break room which I don’t say no to, plus halloween, thanksgiving and christmas which have their own themed snacks to go right along. My willpower got hammered and then just laid down and died. So that’s what I’m trying to reverse this year. I know it’s all about routine but getting into the routine can be the tough part for me. 

To kick the year off the right way, the boys’ NYE resolution is to adventure more and whine less, 

On track with the miles

and their goal is to ride 1000 miles in 2018. Sounds like a lot but we ride quite a bit, so we just need to be consistent. A few longer rides thrown in throughout the year will help, too. Inching the 5 miler up to 8 or 10 will do no one any harm, especially me.

On the flip side of all that sense is my sensibility, wanting to dally and play, read:  eat. 

Specifically, tomorrow I’m hosting Golden Girls Monopoly hour with cheesecake and white wine, it’s nothing but win Win WIN! provided I get my slop-pay ass back into the routine the very next day. 

But then there is afternoon tea two weeks after that, and two weeks after that, and two weeks after that! 
But there is something on the horizon for me to keep it all in perspective and it’s not what you might think [self-loathing], it’s yet another opportunity to seriously hurt myself or even – you guessed it – die [of shame]. River 2 Ridge.

 

Its not the Warrior Dash, it’s worse! Run a mile, kayak a bunch of miles, ride 40 miles, run 8 miles. Fuck. But I’m in it to come last, not hurt myself and have a good time. Husband and a friend did it last year and while drinking red and watching the kids run around in the rain, it seemed a fun thing to sign up for. Now my friend is having second thoughts but I decided to go ahead, anyway, and sign up for the whole thing. Relay is an option and good for you, but you shouldn’t get to come through to the winner’s circle and share the limelight with people who did the whole thing if you only did it piecemeal, imo. So that’s why I couldn’t do the relay, I wouldn’t respect myself in the morning. 

So while I sit here drinking red and ordering men’s size sweat pants for myself, I dream of tomorrow, And not only the literal tomorrow where I’m consuming good food as well as good times, but the figurative, where I run and paddle and pedal as though my life depends on it. 

Good times.

Sweating

Well, friends and countrymen, I did something radical and I may or may not be pressed for a secret password to prove that I am, in fact, really and truly me. I bought an electric cord for the elliptical that has been a clothes rack in the bedroom for the past 4 or so years, and it is a full-time coat hanger no more! Merely part-time, from now on. That’s the plan, anyway.

Amazon. Problem solved. They might be screwing bookstores but they are the kings of random cords which may or may not melt the display of your old and going-out-of-business exercise machine from before you joined a gym and forgot that you had your own gym machine. Rejoice!

I got my gear on this morning, only to find, though, that there was nothing to rest the ipad on. No little shelf or hooks or anything at all to keep me occupied and forget that I’m burning food that I shouldn’t have eaten. 

Useless

I was ready to pack it in before I even goT started but I cast my eye around for something. I even climbed aboard the boring thing while I wracked my brain. And I found something!

And it worked! Huzzah!

I sweated for over half an hour while reading steamy sex scenes. 36 minutes to be exact! So that just about accounted for the tiny cheesecake I ate at work yesterday, but not the cinnamon scrolls for breakfast, nor the peanut brittle, countless cookies and other chocolatey treats that I haven’t been able to leave alone in the breakroom at work. Doh! But it’s a start. It’s one small elliptical step for me, and one giant stride when the reading gets steamy. Phew!

Apocalypse Now

By the time you read this, I could be dead, or very badly hurt, or just badly hurt. Or certainly embarrassed. It’s Saturday and Husband and I are off to another Warrior Dash. The weather appears to be closing in and it may be a sign of my, at least, impending doom.

Impending doom?

I’m out of shape and often out of humor for exercise, save for the foregone conclusion of a drink or two afterwards. So why did I agree to be a part of the continuing trend of trying not to hurt yourself in some sort of event that aims to hurt you? Ask me again in a couple of hours when it’s all over red rover. I’ll be (hospitalized) euphoric that I’m a) alive, b) unscathed and c) choc full of those hormones that pump through your body because of a) and b).
This is my last year of competition, though, unless I rev up my gym visits and stop hurting myself when I try a few sets of push-ups (true story).

Today we are going for the super hero mindset, so I’m dressed accordingly.

Transformation complete

I’ve tossed around the idea of dressing as She Ra for halloween but the shirt may well be ruined after this little outing. Someone please alert my parents if there are no subsequent check-ins later today, or at least, check the hospitals.