Convictions and race car driving

I value speed.  Being able to do things quickly is important to me, whether it is running, swimming (I won), reading, thinking, or eating dinner, it doesn't matter - I love fast.  When I see people do things quickly (and right and well), I have a burst of joy and pride that aims in their direction.  

See how quickly my little genius is advancing through algebra?  Yay!  

Wow, look at how fast that guy is running.  Impressive!  

Did that guy just calculate a crazy multiplication problem in his head in like five seconds?  Yessss.  Awesome.  Oooh!

green stripe in hair is real

Conversely, the opposite of fast makes me feel...frustrated, impatient, and bonkers.  Is this lady purposely walking this slow in front of me to annoy me?  (And by walking, I mean waddling slowly like a drunk penguin.)  I am so glad she is taking up the entire aisle, too.  Wow.  I think she is!  I think she literally is thinking, "I am going to drive this girl nuts right now.  This is so funny.  Ha ha ha ha ha ha (evil sounding laughs, of course)!"  God, help me with patience - right now!  (Free irony.)

But no where else does it come down to rubber meets road in the speedy department like it does with driving (um, literally?).  I LOVE driving fast.  When I was in high school, I determined with my Dad that after I graduated, we would go down to Indiana and take a weekend course on how to become race car drivers (that was before Danica Patrick was on the scene).  My Dad was all over this, but unfortunately, after the cost of the insurance and other expenses, we decided it was a bit too pricey.  No problem!  I decided to drive my awesome 1994 red Ford Tempo as if it were a racecar anyway.  Awesome.  (I only got in one accident, in case you are currently tsk-tsking me.  Yes, I totaled a car, but that was because of flooded lanes and hydroplaning into walls, which obviously was not my fault.)  

fast and cute = win

Since everything in life is a race (clearly...I hope you haven't glossed over this in your own life), I have always enjoyed passing people on the expressway and getting new low times for getting to places (I reset a timer in my car to check if I can beat my old times) since it means I am winning.  (Do not ask, "Winning what?"  That is besides the point.  I am winning life.)  

Until about a week ago.  What a stupid day it was!  I was reading an article from someone I respect a great deal about obeying the law and not speeding and how if you are going to be obedient to God in everything that it also includes subjecting yourself to the (horrible) speed limit.  

WHY DID I KEEP READING?!

It was like, well, maybe if you obey God in even these menial bits of life, perhaps there will be other little blessings as a result - like perhaps maybe you will have less red lights, or have a shorter wait in line at Meijer.   Now I don't know about that, and I really don't want to obey God for the benefit of a possibly shorter line at the grocery store, but the whole driving the speed limit as a way to being obedient to God stuck in my head like an arrow to the heart.  

I have been trying to do so.  Let me tell you, it is SO HORRIBLE.  People are speeding past me on the expressway!  I feel like a dufis lame-o nooney head!  Oh, why can't the speed limit be 80 mph?!  Actually, no.  That's not even it.  I don't care what the speed limit is - I just want to be faster than EVERYONE ELSE.  And it is really hard to do that when I have this internal regulator switched on.  Listening to loud music isn't the same when you're driving slow, either.  So much trauma!  

Last week, my little was in the backseat and said,  "Mom.  Why are you driving so slow?!"  I explained my situation.  "Ugh," he said, "I wish I were driving with Dad now!  He even drives faster than this!"  (Up until this time the hubby was somewhat famous in the fam for driving like, let's say, an old grandpa - words of child, not my words.)  Double arrow to the heart.

I suppose that this too shall bring out a more disciplined aspect, even though going through it is pure torture.  

So if you see me on the road, honk and wave as you fly past.  

Peace, love, and granny driving, 
Ms. Daisy

PR-ing your run: 5k strategy

Hey peeps!  How goeth it?

What a weekend.  I had a 5K run on Saturday and then we had the non-holiday here called "Mother's Day" (LOL) in the U.S. of A., where you get to still correct your children all day long, do the dishes, make the meals and pretty much do everything you have to do every single other day of the year.  It's great.  Mostly it serves to make mothers irritated because they wish that they could have a day off (and they secretly hope that Mother's Day would be it), however, year after year, it is still just another epic fail.

So, happy freakin' Mother's Day out there to all of you mothers, but a toast of pink moscato with frozen organic berries in slushie form to all of you who had to do the stinkin dishes anyway.

Moving on.

Back to the race.  I was sort of training for the 5K, but not as much as I usually do for such things.  I enjoy making a thing of it and forcing myself to run about 4-5 times a week but this time I kinda failed at that and prior to the run on Saturday, I had run once about 8 days before.  Someone at the pool suggested that I was tapering.

Yes.  Tapering.

More like my cousin's secret trick for triathlons - he calls his training "non-training".

It works for him.

I was running about once or twice a week from January on - the weather was not really cooperative this year and I don't have clothing that works for -30F temps.  I mean, I could go running in my snow pants, but it's kind of bulky and the whole running with snow boots on is a workout I don't really enjoy.  Because of this, I did not feel very exceptionally prepared, but somehow, glory to God, it worked out anyway.

My usual practice runs for distances of around 3-5 miles have an average pace of about 7:45 min/mile.  I can run much quicker on adrenaline, however.  My first mile of the half marathon I did clocked in at 7:00 even and I figured I should chill it out a bit since I had only 12.1 miles left to go.  (At mile 12 I wanted nothing more than to lay down and take a nap.)  My usual 5k time lands usually somewhere in the 23 minute range.

Before I did the race on Saturday, I read an article on Friday about an experiment that was done with some college women runners.  They got a baseline pace and then started their first mile at 6% faster, 3% faster, and 0% faster to compare their results. They found that half of the runners did better at a 6% increase and the other half did better at a 3% increase - some of them even PR'ed with this method (average around mid twenty minute results).  

If you're a runner, you always ALWAYS hear about negative splitting your miles.  I read the research and decided to try the positive split method.  Basically, you pull a crazy first mile and then hang on to your pace for the last two.  You know with a 5K being such a short race that your torture will be over shortly - and on the flip side, if you think about it, you really can't make up a minute or whatever somewhere else in the race.

I put myself up near the front (it wasn't an enormous race - no Kenyans) of about 500 racers and psyched myself up.  The ipod was pumping, the intimidation vibes were being sent out to any females nearby with my stretching and jumping around maneuvers (yeah, well, not really, but whatever, it helps me somewhow to think so).  The countdown began - 5, runners, 4, 3, on your marks, 2, 1 go!  I blasted off, adrenaline extending to my fingernails, heart pumping out of my ribcage, mouth drier than dirt (I actually was moving my tongue all over to try to see if it was going to dry up and fall out - this was a good distraction for a moment).  I kept my eyes up and tailed those seven guys in front of me (well, except for #1 who was 25 years old, about 7 feet tall and weighed something like 124 pounds and had those special arm sleeves and leg thingies - he was out of sight of everyone in about 4 minutes).  

Mile one came.  Check the watch.  6:30.  Woah.  Yeah, I guess that's faster than normal.  Is it too fast?  I'll find out.

Here came the out and back turnaround - I looked at my watch at that point and then the adrenaline in my brain made me promptly forget all about it (very useful).  Starting to get tired.  Dizzy.

Mile 2.  Really?  Oh man.  Okay, come on.  I can hear the people on the opposite side cheering for me...sort of...the music in the ipod was loud.  I was focusing on not passing out - stuff was getting fuzzy in the vision.

Am I at mile 3 yet?  Breathe.  Don't pass out. It would be embarassing.

Distraction #2: Is that pee going down my leg?  Please tell me I'm not starting my period right now.  Oooh, that would also be embarassing.  Then I pictured myself running and thinking of that thought - then what other people would be thinking.  Should I nonchalantly grab a leaf from the ground and find a way to keep running and use it if necessary?  It would be organic...

Yes, the thoughts of runners are a bit bewildering.  I'm just keepin' it real.

Then I saw it.  On the ground - a bouncy, flippy ponytail shadow coming my way.  NO!!!  Distraction #3 was on the way.  Mile 3 - high school cross country runner is trying to pass me.  No,  no, no, no, no.  I am in 1st place for women...no, no, no, no...  Don't want to give it up.

Aaaaaaaaaand Miss 85 pound teenager bounds past, ponytail cheerfully bouncing.  I stare at her hamstrings.  Holy cow, her leg is the size of my arm.  She is a running skeleton.  Holy cow.  Look at that thing.  It's sticking OUT of the back of her leg every time she lands.  Mesmerizing.  Now hypnotized by the hamstring.

Around the curve - the finish line is in sight.  

I remind myself to push to finish.  Um, I can't.  I am.  Ugh!  GO!

I cross the line - chip calls me 21:59, gun calls me 22:01.  2nd place women's overall, 10th to finish overall.  I figure it is a good time to lay on the soft cement now.

Yay.  It's over.  Poo, she beat me.  Yay, I cleared my best time ever.

The positive split worked.

Next time, I'll start out fast again.  And maybe I'll practice running in Depends.

Peace, love and yes, I do know 2nd place is the first loser, but it got me a medal anyway, 
(and seriously - I wish I could show you the freakish vision of hamstrings burned on my mind - it was ALIEN, I tell you, alien!)
Ms. Daisy 

Running Fat, Post-Pregnancy



Go faster!  Ruuuuun!

 Ello, lovies!  Yes, that's right, the title isn't Running Fast, it's Running Fat.  Ah, the joy.

Some of you are svelte, elite runners.  Some of you were svelte, elite runners.  That is, until pregnancy hit you.  I fall into the latter category at present.

I put on a dress today that I was contemplating wearing.  

UNTIL.

Until I looked at myself and wondered what those floppy grossies were that were seemingly hanging from the saddlebag region of my leg.  SO GROSS.

Who ARE you?  I wondered to myself.  I am the Flabmaster, my self answered.

Me and Flabmaster scheduled a run post-lunch today.

I have been doing a few runs here and there (combined with swimming thrice weekly and a bike ride once a week) and it was just recently that I have felt a bit more human while doing so.  When I first tried running, I could not even get through a one mile run without stopping.  I didn't know why - I thought that it was because I was so horridly out of shape (which I'm not denying), but there was another component there that I failed to realize: blood loss.



Ew, ew, ew, ew, ewwww!

 I lost quite a bit of blood and I was reading up on it at first.  Some people were saying that it took them four weeks or so to come back to normal levels.  I was so desperate and weak at first that I even made myself eat liver.  Some of you are like, "Wha?  Liver is delicious!"  Yeah, no.  Not so much.  It was my first time eating liver and I consumed it as if it were medicine (I actually think I just started swallowing pieces whole without tasting them after four or five bites).  

My legs would not lift up off of the ground.  They burned like I had been doing thousand pound squats after running for a city block.  I remembered about the blood loss and thought through what could possibly be happening.  What I think was going on was that I didn't have enough blood to carry oxygen to my muscles, thus the burning.  I could be wrong, but I was trying to piece it together.

Lately I've been able to (hopefully) get back up to normal levels and run like a human again (albeit a wimpy human).  I was working on one mile runs at first, and a couple weeks ago I went up to a 5K (or just above a 3 mile run).  Today I took the Flabmaster out for the first (almost) 5 miler post-pregnancy.

Flabmaster was working on all cylinders and my times were not where they used to be.  I did hit my 3 block mark at 2:07 (which I usually do), but then it dropped off after that.  At my halfway point, I am usually around 18 minutes.  Today was closer to 20.  The whole (almost) 5 miles had me home around the 40 minute mark, 4 minutes above what I'd consider a good time for myself.

Yes, it's pathetic, but the truth is that all these little pathetic-isms are the building blocks for excellence.  You've got to get out there and build the foundation so that you can get back to where you once were.  You've got to fast forward in your mind to your future fit self and cheer yourself on.  You tell yourself to keep going.  You tell yourself to c'mon over here, keep working - every step is money in the bank.

So push it.  Even though you know you aren't at top shape yet, you're on the path and going in the right direction.  Don't give up.  

If you're feeling uninspired, put on that tight dress so you can scream in horror in the mirror.  Works every time!

Peace, love and maybe Flabmaster can be my new rapper name,
Ms. Daisy

Run Update: It Was Horrid

Little update - you know my fat, weak and out of shape post a couple days ago?

Well, I just did my first run.  Oh.  My.  Good.  Ness.

Easy category: Worst Run In My Life

And it was about one mile long, maybe just over.  Don't ever get fat, weak or out of shape.  It's horrible.

Peace, love and I'll catch my breath sooner or later,
Ms. Daisy

Fat, weak and out of shape

I found out today something I've wondered for ages.  The quandry was this:

Why, oh why, do some people hate working out and not do it?  (Excused are those who do manual labor daily, of course.  I only wonder at this for the sedentary suburbanites and/or urbanites.  I suppose some people who live in rural areas may be sedentary, and if so, fine, they can lump in, too.  Heck, throw the whole world in.)

I discovered the answer today.  Perhaps it is not shocking to you.  Perhaps you already know.  Perhaps it was something you hope the government will not spend $4.5 billion dollars to find out.  (I am among those in the latter category.)

The answer is shockingly simple.

I surmise the reason people hate working out and don't do it is threefold - it is because they are fat, weak and/or totally out of shape.  Don't be offended.  Let me tell you why not - I just found this out because today I found out that I am this pathetic person.  

I have been forced to live a very sedentary (one step up above bedrest) life for the last five months or so.  My exercise included difficult things like turning the pages of books, walking from the couch to the bathroom to the kitchen table and back to the couch, and lifting my tea cup from the table up to my mouth.  At first I thought I might poke my eyes out with a wombat at the torture of it, but I decided to make the best of it (studying grammar, reading more intensely, researching crazy topics, etc.) and the deep disturbance left me and I began to accept it as what must be.

But now I've gotten the green light to pick back up again and go back to life as usual.  Mostly.  So today I began what would have been a day in the regular life of Ms. Daisy back before near-bedrest set in.  This means that yours truly was up with the chirping birds at 5:00, off to the the pool to swim for an hour with my dear friends and fellow masters swimmers.

I love swimming.  I mean, LOVE.  And thankfully I swim with some absolutely fantastic swimmers.  Several of them have their names plastered on university natatoriums across the country.  We've even had the rare and lovely pleasure of swimming with Sheila Taormina, the olympic swimmer and olympic triathlete/pentathlete.  These people are beasts in the pool.  I am not them, but I happily trail behind my friends the sharks, chasing them down the lanes in good guppy-fashion.  

They have inspired and challenged me to kick it up a notch (or fifty) and before I had to sit on the couch for five months, I was swimming like I was my old high school swim capitan self.  Last year I participated in a fun (husband's translation: insane) swim that was a 5k through a chain of lakes.  I may have even lucked out and won first place for my age division.  I say this not to boast of my fabulous accomplishments, I am telling you this so you have an understanding of my mindset and to show you how pathetic I've become.

I used to run 5 miles three times a week (interspersed with the swimming on the other 3 days a week) and play volleyball once a week in a league.

So it was through these eyes that I looked at the participants on the show The Biggest Loser and said, "Why don't they just like run a marathon or something?  Or maybe they could swim a 10k and just get it over with!  Or maybe they should sign up for those cross-state bike races.  I don't get it."  (I said this while doing pull ups on the kitchen pull up bar...of course.)

How.  Ev.  Er.

Sitting on the couch for five months KIND OF CHANGES THINGS.  (This capitalized part should be read loudly and dramatically, in case you were wondering.)

So my brain was this brain who went with my newly pathetic body off to the pool.  Let me just tell you, they weren't getting along.  I swam three laps - THREE LAPS - and my arms started to feel it.  My previous self would have many days of not feeling anything at all after swimming the full workout for an hour.  So it was my in-shape brain who started yelling at my arms.  "What are you doing? What on earth is wrong with you??" The arms whimpered something pathetic, "We're tiiiired.  Waah."

The brain went back at it again, "Well I don't care, GO FASTER."  
Arms:  We caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan't.  Waaah.
Brain:  Do you even see your 50 split time?  You are seriously like the most wussy swimmer anyone could imagine right now.
Arms: Go night-night.  Tiiiiiiiiiiiired.  Owie.

Yeah.  Good news is there's nowhere to go but up?  

I got home and the hubby asked how it was.  After I told him, he said, "Now you know how I feel about swimming!"  He had this gleeful look in his eye, perhaps from him remembering how I smirked and guffawed when after I explained the warm up to him, he said he wouldn't be interested in swimming with me.  Ever.

Yes, well.

All I can say is that I'm thankful that my brain is stronger than my arms.  

And now, for a quick nap on the couch...

Peace, love and I just can't wait for my first 5 mile run,
Ms. Daisy

A.D.D. exercise

How often (and in what ways) do you get to exercise?

If you just thought, "Yuck, exercise!", I might have an idea that might help you like it a bit more.  

I really don't need to go over the benefits of exercising - everyone knows that you ought to physically strengthen your body often, but the motivation to do so can sometimes be lacking.  I think if we were all farmers, we wouldn't ever have to be so pathetic to drag ourselves to a gym, we'd get what our body needed within the productive lifestyle of doing hard outdoor work, but since that is (sadly) not the case, we've got to make up for it like little hamsters on a spinning wheel instead.

I do often lament this, but perhaps one day my dream will come true and I'll get to be a farmer.  Until then, I  have to be somewhat artificial in my exercise via going to the gym/playing sports, etc.

My dear, wonderful friend has just had a baby (actually I have like 3 friends who all just had babies in about the last ten minutes) and she works her booty off on her elliptical six days a week (and she looks amazing - not kidding.  Supermodel.).  I cannot and could not do that.  When the guy who writes our swim workouts scripts that we even have to do a set of 8 of something, I fall into despair thinking of how long it's going to take (unless perhaps it's 8 25's, but I digress).  Now mix that puppy up 4 now, 4 later with variance in between, I'm all good.  I am a bit (and by "a bit", I mean COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY) way too A.D.D. to do the same thing six days in a row.  I do have my daily habits that I would never change (like eating eggs for breakfast every.single.day.), but as for exercise, I have to vary it.

And let me tell ya - if you can mix it up enough, you can trick yourself that you're having a great time because it's something new all the time!

Let me give you an example of how I trick myself into fun.  I swim 3 days a week and each workout is totally different from the last.  I know one day of the week we will work sprints, another day will work endurance and the third day will be something else.  Now I can't just swim only - so I run a couple of times a week.  Once with other people and once flying solo.  I vary my distances and speeds so I don't get in a rut on that and take different paths all the time to show myself some different scenery.  The last little piece of exercise I incorporate is more like a hilarious and rambunctious time of pure and utter joy than something  you'd label as exercise - I get to play volleyball once a week.  (Volleyball is AWESOME.)

I take it as it comes, a day at a time and it's really not that big of a deal.  If you look at it as working out 6 times a week, you may feel overwhelmed and discouraged - I just look at is as what kind of fun thing I get to do that day and how it's going to be something new to try.

So my vote is for you to just mix it up, make it something new all the time and somehow, it doesn't feel like work  and it doesn't feel like something you're making yourself do - it feels like something you "get" to do.

Try it, let me know how it works out for you!

Peace, love and bump, set, spike,
Ms. Daisy

Randoms. Happy New Year!

Okay, I’m on late today, sorry.  It was a bit of a crazy one.  Anyway, I wanted to talk to all a ya’ll about a few things in true random Daisy style.  Giddy up.

First – on your New Year's resolution to become a runner (right?  Didn’t you?  Wasn’t that on the list?), I wanted to point some of you who live in a snowy climate toward a tool that you can use to run outside whilst the world turns into a giant ice cube.  It’s called Yak Trax and m’dearies, they are amazing.  They are these metal coil thingy-ma-jigs that strap on with rubber and Velcro to the bottom of your running shoes.  It gives you a fantastic grip so you have a much less chance of falling on the ice that used to be a sidewalk.  As my dear Swedish friend says, “There’s no bad weather, only bad clothing.”  Those Swedes!  Ah, precis, det ar så popular.  Jag älskar dej, bastis!

Check out some fancy Yaktrax!

Secondly – What kind of doctor do you go see?  Have you ever considered a naturopath?  I seriously think you should.  If you get a good doctor (of any type, really), they are a gold mine of wonderful information.  I’m not knocking all other types of doctors, just so ya’s know, but I am discouraged that there are so many physicians out there who – instead of perusing your symptoms and seek an actual CAUSE – prefer to consult their gigantic book of cleverly painted pills and play Pick-Yer-Favorite-Color by using a Twister wheel provided for them by their own dear friends, the pharmaceutical companies.

Thirdly – Hillary Clinton.  If you believe ANYTHING that the media is telling you about her ailments that she so fatefully is experiencing at the perfect timing so that she does not have to testify in something that may incriminate her for wrongdoing, please, do me a favor.  Pick up a block of wood and bang it against your forehead like the monks in Monty Python’s Holy Grail.  This will help you.  Somehow.  If it doesn’t, just ask your doctor to give you the color of the week pill.

Fourthly – Guns don’t murder people, zombies and sickos do.  If you think you can solve the world’s problems by removing guns from the safes of the actual sane and law-abiding people, you might as well also ban steak knives, cars, gardening tools, ropes, and a plethora of other tools that any generic weirdo would get his weirdo hands on and do his weirdo things with.  Promoting vampires, werewolves, aliens, and crimes/murder (via shows like CSI, etc.) feed the mainstream of society and spread their sprawling talons with a slicing grip into every idea that used to be “normal” (two-parent homes, young people being respectful to their elders, not sucking blood out of people’s necks, etc.).  Society is broken into a thousand pieces and it just keeps getting hacked at every single day.  Politics aren’t going to fix it.  The media aren’t going to fix it.  (It sounds so weird to say that, but media is really a plural word.  Ugh.  It looks so gross and sounds weird that way, though, doesn’t it!?  Ew.)  There’s only one solution.  Move to Switzerland.  They all have guns there and the crime rate is like 0.000%.  That was easy!  Any other world problems, just send them my way.

Now let me just tell you what I really think.

Yes.

Ahem.

Okay, I guess that’s enough soapbox for one day.

Peace, love and I’ll meet you in Switzerland with your Yaktrax on,

Ms. Daisy

Be it resolved...

I don’t know how it is everywhere, but here in these United States, everyone loves to have a good solid New Year’s resolution or two.  Or five.  And amongst the throngs of lists of the many resolves, there stands one which is so prevalent and pronounced that it is quite likely that it is the most popular resolution ever made and I dare say it is made every year by the masses.  What is this resolution that is so near and dear and popular and prevalent?

The fantastic resolution to lose weight/begin exercising.

This is never more evident to me than in the gym in the wee hours of the morning all throughout January.  I, being somewhat of a creature of habit, have my “own” locker at the gym.  If I could stencil my name on it, I would, but since I can’t, I just claim it by using the same one every single morning.  It is the perfect spot for me, oh how I love it so!  It never fails, however, that sometime in January, a person who is pretending that they are going to get fit and fabulous waddles in and steals my locker.  This only happens in January because about 5 weeks (6 if you’d like to make bets on it) after the new year, all of those people who were working it out to go work out totally quit and go back to sleeping in and eating potato chips on their couches while they identify with the contestants on The Biggest Loser (I love you, Bob and Jillian!)

This is the time where all of the actual regulars rejoice and are free to enjoy a much more open space in the privacy of their own locker area without threat of invasion. 

Maybe you’ve got a resolution to pick up a new hobby or learn something you’ve never tried before.  If you aren’t a runner, might I suggest giving it a whirl?  It is a very rewarding hobby and once you convince yourself you’d like to do it and begin pursing it, there are a myriad of benefits.  What benefits, say you?  Well, there’s the obvious – an increase in cardiovascular health, a trimmer figure, and perhaps even the coveted golden crown of weight loss and a shrinking of the posterior regions.  Then you’ve got the others – a great stress-reliever and an outlet for clearing your mind and lungs.  You get to enjoy the scenery around you on an up-closer scale that you wouldn’t be able to do if you were passing by on a bus or in a car and it gives you an appreciation for your surroundings (or you just get entertainment value by playing a game of “Grade The Lawns” as you run past).  You may even develop an addiction to it with all those endorphins flying around, not to mention the best sleep you'll ever have after a killer run (for all of you dear insomniacs out there).  Some research reports that running even reduces your risk of disease like breast cancer and osteoporosis for women.

Now you’re sitting there thinking, “Yeah, that’s just great Ms. Daisy, but I have to tell you something: I HATE RUNNING.” 

I know, I know.  You like the idea of running but the actual doing it is horrid torture.  I was there.  I know how you feel. 

Sometimes you’ve got to pull the mind-over-matter thing.  I didn’t start running until after I was 27ish years old.  I called up my little sister (who was a member of a cross country running team) and said…

“Hey, so, I’ve been thinking.  I think it would be so cool to be a marathon runner!  Do you want to do a marathon with me?”

Sister: “Do you have any idea how long a marathon actually is?”

Me: “Um, no…”

Sister: “26.2 miles.”

Me: “Oh, ick.  What do they have that’s less?”

Sister:  “A half?”

Me: “Ummmm, still no…is that the least?”

Sister: “There’s a 10k, 6.2 miles.”

Me: “Oh man! Is there anything else?”

Sister: “A 5k?”

Me:  “Sold!  I’m so doing that!  Now, how do I do it?”

I didn’t really know how, but I ran 6 days a week for practice.  I actually started off with quite hating running.  I could only really run about one block.  The amazing thing about your body and your muscle memory is that it grows and grows – the more you practice, the more you can do.  The positive reinforcement I got from being able to steadily do more and more (plus my idea that I would soon get to call myself “a runner”) spurred me on to keep it up, even when it was hard and I didn’t feel like it anymore.

I signed up for a 5k race (I recommend you do this.).  Every morning I would picture the other racers.  I would tell myself that they got up and were running right now (or perhaps they were already done with their run today) and they were killing it out there.  They were going for the gold and wanted to snatch first place away from me.  I have a slightly competitive nature and this worked very well because I would then run so hard I would nearly crumple into a pathetic little ball on the cement upon finishing each day (Also recommended, but not required.).

I am happy to tell you that if I can do it, you can do it.  I truly could not run more than a block.  After several years of training off and on, I even managed to finish a half marathon (13.1 miles/21 k).  I am not telling you this so that I can tell you fascinating stories of my personal awesomeness, but rather to say that YOU CAN DO IT! 

Whaddya think?  Do you want to call yourself a runner?  What resolutions do you have? 

Peace, love and train it like you’re Little Mac,

Ms. Daisy