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.

Advertisements

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.

Dashing Around 

Today is the Warrior Dash and it’s my third and Husband’s fourth time doing it. I’m less excited because I’m tired but also feeling a bit anxious in my gut because I start a new job on Monday. Yep. Wow.

Anyhoo. I half expected Husband to bail this morning because he has aches and pains and he’s a man’s man, so he’s telling me all about them. In detail. Baby. Sore throat; sore something else; tired; painful wrist and probably something else. I’ve got a few things going on, too, but do you hear me boohooing? It all boils down to age. We’re old, closing in on 40. And I’ll reinforce that notion by adding that Husband realised one of his injuries post-coitus. So literally, fucking old.

It was a fun run and it was fun when it was over. I only bailed on one of the obstacles because I am afraid of heights and couldn’t reach the other side with my leg before pushing myself over, therefore I would have died. So I climbed back down and moved on. Kudos to me for climbing the bastard to begin with.

Beer, burgers and then naps for all and sundry after we got home and today, I don’t feel much the worse for wear except for runner’s thighs the morning after. All in all, a satisfactory way to flog myself with a smile on my face.