My ass is angry at me. Angry for marathon training. I’ve upped my mileage in preparation for my slog at the 2015 Detroit Free Press International Marathon, where I will run just ahead of the wagon of shame through two countries in pursuit of the holy PR.
Whenever I get a wee twinge in one of these tiny muscles, I’m always conflicted about what to do: 1) stretch (almost always the right answer) 2) Baby it (but you can’t be a baby forever) 3) Work it more so that it gets stronger.
Right now I’m giving myself permission to back of on the intensity of my runs when I’m feeling something that crosses the threshold from achy-tired to painful. Stay tuned for further developments.
After two weeks of half-beast mode, this week is rocking for me. Coming in at or slightly below nutritional needs, and getting my sweat on everyday.
Monday- missed PT, so I ran and biked at the gym for 45 minutes till i was good and sweaty
Tuesday- Tri Class (where I basically just kicked and re-learned how to breathe. I did not know I did not know how to swim.)
Wednesday- walked .1, ran .31, walked .1, ran.35, walked .32 home.
Thursday- Yoga tonight!
Friday- Practicing Swimming AND Spin class?
Saturday- Make Up PT- group Training
Sunday- Repeat Wednesday
I once stayed up all night delivering a baby and then curled up on the couch, water bottle clutched in my hand, squeezing my eyes shut for 15 minutes before my ride picked me up to go to a race. I PRed by something like three minutes because I got to the starting line and said something to myself like “I’m totally wrecked, there’s no chance that I’m going to do well, so I might as well run as fast as I can until I run out of gas and just call it a day. Fuck it.” And then I took off, unhindered by fear of pacing myself too fast, dehydrated and wiped out and ran really, really hard through the hills of my town and had to blink my eyes when I saw the clock at the end.
I also have days, though, where the demands of mother-wife-daughter-sister-friend-midwife-community member leave me so knackered that all I want to do is lie on my bed, eating avocado toast and watching youtube. And I do. Until sweet slumber takes me and keeps me past the time I have to workout if I want to do so before the day’s responsibilities have me reigned in.
One of my best friends, pinkhairedchickenmama, and I are starting this blog to talk about our day to day efforts to achieve pure awesomeness in the pursuit of athletic goals meaningful to us. This blog is about the pendulum swing between working out *really, really hard* to try and do things that we shouldn’t be able to do, like run marathons, get black belts in martial arts, lift cars, you know, things like that, and the opposite end of the spectrum, which is practicing radical self-care and being just fine with where we are right now. We’re both midwives on call 24-7. We’re both parents. We sometimes don’t sleep for days. We’re both fat. These are our challenges and also the things that make us strong.
Pinkhairedchickenmama wants to lose a bunch of weight and be really strong and run long distances; I want to run another marathon in about 5.5 hours (and raise a shit ton of money for midwives in the process). I want to eat a whole lot better than I do right now. I want to be able to lift completely mind-blowing amounts of weight. I have mixed feelings about how weight loss ranks with my other goals in my pursuit of total awesomeness. We’re different that way. It’s ok.
I want to give big fat juicy smooches to the writers who have been so active in the fat positivity movement. They have paved the way for a lot of people to be comfortable in their own skin. I’m comfortable in my own skin. I think that pinkhairedchickenmama is comfortable in her own skin too. But we also want to make a space for it to be ok to want to change our bodies too for lots of reasons — for speed, for agility, for aesthetics. We might whine. But mostly you’ll just see awesome here. Lots and lots of awesome. A “plus -size” amount of awesome.