My First 5K, or The Epic Battle Between My Pride And My Legs

So on my diet blog I talked about my first 5K race and a 10K hiker's challenge that I did recently (That post can be found HERE). In said post, I talked about how empowering it was, and how I loved every minute of it. It was empowering... after it was over. Here's the true story of the 5K (I'll do the 10K in another post):




So I saw this link on my Facebook feed advertising a St Patty's Day Fun Run (so it wasn't REALLY a race), and I thought to myself, "I've always wanted to do one, why not?" So I bribed a friend (fellow blogger Alayna) into doing it with me, because, really, it's not worth it if you can't drag someone else into your misery, right? So we dressed up in green, and headed out.

We were a little nervous before it started, and when I say "a little," I mean I was about to puke up lunch from three days before.  I felt as if my face were as green as my shirt.

Sorry it's so small, as usual, click to enlarge! (heh, that's what she said!)

Once the race started, we started jogging, after a while (I don't know how long it was, but it felt like FOR-EV-ER!) Alayna said, "Okay, I need to walk!" I silently thanked my lucky stars.

You see, I'm not as fit as I let people think I am. When most people talk about doing athletic stuff, I say "Heck, yes! I'm all over that shit!", but I'm actually thinking, "Shit, I'm never gonna make it; and if I don't make it, I'm going to embarrass myself; and if I embarrass myself in front of everyone, I'm going to cry in front of everyone; and if I cry in front of everyone..." and so on and so forth. But I digress. I'll save that for another post.

Being the good friend that I am, I kept pushing Alayna. I would say things like, "Just run to that sign, then we can walk!" You see, I have a BIG ego. I mean massive. Comparing my ego to a normal person's is like the fabled comparison of African-American men's "equipment" to Caucasian men's "equipment" (nudge, nudge, wink, wink, know what I mean?). So I had to act like this was nothing for me!

Alayna kept saying stuff like "I'm sorry I'm holding you back, you can go on without me!" I would respond with stuff like "No! We're in this together!" Our dialogue started to sound like a crappy, cheesy film about a romantic tragedy. Hey... I think I just described the plot of Titanic....

In truth, I couldn't leave Alayna behind. No, I was not being noble or anything. I just didn't want to reveal my wimpy-ness.

This is a more accurate depiction of how I felt:

In the end, we finished it in just under an hour. And we weren't last! Hey, that's a big thing for a chubby girl like me!


And you can't beat these smiles:

Bet you were wondering about the green stuff under the eyes in my drawings.... I actually had green stuff under my eyes!

So, in the end, yes it was empowering. And yes, I had a blast! No, Alayna, I don't hold any ill feelings towards you, and I am looking forward to tomorrow's 5K! Yes, people, I had so much fun I'm going to do it again!

I will write soon about last Saturday's 10K hike!

May I "Jam" it up your ______?

Yeah, yeah, yeah. It's been a while. Stop nagging, Mom! I'll call you soon!

Anywho, sorry about taking so long to post. I've been busy doing other things like writing my daily diet blog, and some other things that I have talked about over there.

Today, I have a story for you. Anyone who knows me personally already knows this story, but that's ok. There's something towards the end of this post for them (that means there's a point to me telling it again).

Many, many moons ago (more like 5 or 6 years ago), a friend (I'll call her "Punky" since she's kind of a punk rocker) invited me to a party at her house. She called it a "Let's drink rum and eggnog until it comes out of our noses" party, if memory serves correctly. Also at this party were my best friend, Badass Bitch (I love you, girl!); The Jolly Green Giant (she is very tall, and I do believe that this is one of her official nicknames); and The Diva (not because she was a bitch or anything, she just had the "I'm here" attitude).

 

 

 

Punky, Badass Bitch, Me, Jolly Green Giant, Diva

(With the exception of Badass, I doubt that any of us were ever that skinny or chesty, but it's nice to pretend! And, yes, I did wear mom jeans, even then.)

Anyway, After many drinks, it was suggested that we sing karaoke on the Xbox or something. In my drunken state, I agreed that this sounded like fun. Now, to most people this would be fun... but to sober me, this would have been a fate worse than death. You see, in high school, my singing was described as "a cat in heat being butt-fucked while dying."

Now, why I thought I could do this while, *ahem*, influenced is beyond me. When my turn came up, I picked "Hot Stuff" by Donna Summer. I remember thinking that it was a Rod Stewart song for some reason. So I stood up and sang my heart out.

LAAAAAaaaaaaaaAAAA!

After I finished my spectaculously craptastic drunken solo, Diva turns to me and says "Katie, you need to stop trying to be black!" She says this just as I started to take a drink of my rum and eggnog. I laughed so hard, I shot my drink out of my nose and it landed about 6 feet away on Punky's bedroom carpet.

Poor Punky, she had no idea she would be the master of foreshadowing that night. When she moved a year or so later, she confided in me that she still couldn't get the stain out.

The point of this story is that I thought I would never find someone who sings nearly as badly as I did that day. Today, I have been proven wrong. I listened to Kim Kardashian's "Jam". Holey moley!

I have provided a chart to help you understand just how much it sucks:

I have left a lot of gaps so you can fill in your own, taste is subjective, after all!

In case you don't believe me, or just want to assault your eardrums for fun and profit, you can listen to it HERE! 


Most of all, I want to thank you, Kim Kardashian, for making me feel like I suck a little less!

Taylor Swift Justice, the New Hit Crime Show

I know it's been a while since I've posted, I'll update y'all with some real news soon, I promise.

BUUUUUUT I found this tonight while messing around on YouTube:

*giggles*

Guess what? I'm still fat!

Last time I mentioned that Strange Little Man, Monster, and myself were all sick. I drug all of our butts to the doctor on Tuesday. We learned that we all have bronchitis. Also, the doctor told us we each have an additional condition on top of it:


Strange Little Man has sinusitis.

Monster has the beginnings of an ear infection.

I'm still fat.

Yeah, I did a double take, too.

Ok, maybe I didn't do a double take. I mean, I KNOW I'm fat. What bothers me is that, for some reason, the doctor seems to expect me to magically drop the 80 or so pounds in two weeks since I've seen him. Hey, I'd love to lose 40 pounds in a week, but I'm not sure that's a good idea. In truth, even with being sick, I had lost 3 pounds. While, no, it's not spectacular, it's pretty darn good considering I don't diet when I'm sick. It just leads to me sitting on the couch watching Netflix and binging on a tub of Betty Crocker chocolate icing at 11:30 at night because my bitchy white ass craves chocolate.

 

The doctor even gave me a plate that measures food for you, so I can "control my portions," then asks "Have you ever TRIED counting calories?" I wanted to bitch slap him, and ask him how he thought I lost 40 pounds before. Instead, I maintained my cool (I hope), and mentioned that I had in the past, with some success.

All this got me to realize that while, yes, I have come a long way in my weight loss journey, I have a looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo...oooooooooooooooong way to go! In my first post on this blog, I made a short list of some things I would like to accomplish this year. #2 was to learn to love my body the way it is, and I feel like I have started to get there. I have bought some day dresses that I like and wear often. I've been getting more complements on my appearance lately, and it has helped my self confidence as well. I lost a very important part of myself, which included my self confidence, somewhere along the way, and am working to get it back.

Which takes me to #3 on my list: Work on becoming a healthier me. As a start, I quit caffeinated drinks two day ago. The withdrawals are tough. I am reminded every time I quit just how much of a drug caffeine really is. I get the shakes and moody when I quit. Also, I always have migraines for a few days after my last soda. Today it feels like my head is a battlefield.

 

Yes, I just re-used the brain picture.

You may ask why I am quitting caffeine. If you're not asking, scroll down until you find something interesting. I am quitting because I am going to go back on my old friend, the diet pill, Healthe Trim. Caffeine basically negates the effectiveness of it somehow. But long story short, this stuff is great! It helps control my appetite and gives me enough energy to jump out of bed in the morning and tackle the day, including 5 am workouts!  Plus, it's all natural!

So, the plan is as follows:
     1) Kick bronchitis's ass.
     2) Start Healthe Trim.
     3) Work on "controlling my portions" and counting calories.
     4) Get back to working out almost every day.
     5) Shock the hell out of the doctor when I see him in two months.

In order to keep myself honest, I think I am going to write about my experience. Don't worry, I won't bore you with all the details here. I think I will start ANOTHER blog to document all the details (ambitious, I know), and try to keep this side interesting, lighthearted, and fun!


While we're talking about my list of thinks I want to accomplish this year, I have not figured out #1 yet. #1 is "Figure out why I suddenly have a loathing hatred for Taylor Swift." I used to like her and her music. Now I have to change the station or skip through iTunes until it quits playing her. I thought I would leave you with a picture of her without makeup to make myself happier:

It didn't work. It makes me hate her more.


However, this picture of Kristen Stewart (she plays Bella in the Twilight Movies) without makeup does make me happy:

Her skinny ass pisses me off, too. I do wonder what kind of day she's having to wear that expression. It makes me wonder if I should feel sorry for her. Then I think of her bad-acting anorexic behind and I don't care anymore.

Why, yes, I am a cold-hearted bitch. Thanks for noticing!

Potty Humor

So, it's been a little while since I've posted. The Monster (my two year old) has been sick, then Strange Little Man caught it, and now I have it. We're all coughing and hacking and wiping our noses. I just checked my email for the first time in over a week and cleared out all 200 or so messages. (mostly wanting me to buy diet pills and porn, but hey, what else can I expect from my mom?)


So imagine my surprise and pants-wetting excitement to log on to blogspot today to find that I have two followers and one whole comment! (It still counts if I know them all, like, for real, right?) Three or nine or a million more posts and I might be an interwebs sensation!

Another thing I have been busy doing lately is potty training The Monster. I have been fighting with her her for over a year and a half, but I've gotten serious this time. I even put on my war paint:

Yes- my potty training warpaint is brown-and massive!

 

I've learned a few things about toddlers during this experience:

     1) Once you teach them to pull their diapers/pull-ups/underwear off, they become nudists! Monster loves to take them off right when I'm expecting someone over or when the doorbell rings:

She has my big booty!

      2) When they decide to rebel, it's not just "I'm not going to go in your infernal potty," it's "Not ONLY am I not going to go in your infernal potty, I won't go in my diaper either!" So I get to clean up where she decides to poop all over her room. (I won't draw a picture of that, I like you guys too much!)

     3) They expect to receive something for every time they do go successfully in the potty. And grandparents only fuel that fire! I'm getting the "Grandpa gave me a skateboard and you expect me to be happy with a STICKER?!" look more often than I like.

I am also learning that this whole potty training thing is changing me as an adult:

     1) I find myself looking for someone to high five when I use the restroom, then becoming somewhat disappointed when I remember I can't do that. I'm grown up.

      2) I watch other people's children that are the Monster's age, to see if they're potty trained yet. It's like a new obsession. People are going to think I'm a pedophile for staring at their kid's butts, when in fact, I am just checking to see if they're still in diapers. Hey, at least I don't do the "squeeze test"!

      3) I've learned to hold it ALL DAY! When you're potty training someone else, there is no time to actually go yourself. Because in the two minutes it takes you to go, they have taken off their pants and are threatening to crawl under the stall door and run through JcPenny's.

And thus ends another failed blog that I originally planned to discover why I have such evil feelings towards Taylor Swift. Guess I'll save that for when I run out of ideas.

Brains, trains, and socially awkward ninjas (ok, I lied about the train)

I had an interesting start to my day. My alarm went off. I turned it off and proceeded to have an argument with myself over whether I should go back to sleep or go to the gym.

One half of my brain was saying: "Due to your terrible insomnia, you only got 5 hours of sleep. Wouldn't you feel better if you got an hour more?"

The other half was like: "No, Bizatch! You get your exponentially expanding behind out of this bed and go to the gym"

     "But it's been proven that you burn more effective calories if you get the proper amount of sleep." (I don't know if this is really true.)

     "It's been proven that you have more energy if you work out, so get moving you little pansy!"

This continued for a while, and it got to the point that I was afraid that my brain was going to pull out shanks and start stabbing itself:

Finally, after ten minutes of this, I told both sides to shut up. I decided that if I was awake enough to have a debate of this magnitude, I was awake enough to get up and go to the gym.

I love the gym. No, really, I do. It's just the waking up to go that bothers me. If Strange Little Man didn't work nights, I would go in the evening. I love it when the weekends come around, so I can go for as long as I like and not have to worry about hurrying home to take care of stuff.

I think I love the gym because it gives me a chance to be alone and work out my frustrations. That, and I get to catch up on my TV shows with Hulu on my iPad. Today I tried to catch up on The Office. I love that show. I've finally figured out that I'm like a less annoying Dwight. We both grew up on farms, are socially awkward, and think ninjas exist.

Socially awkward ninja. Maybe a little blind, too.

The other thing I love about the gym is that I get to watch people in a primitive environment. Think about it, a bunch of sweaty people in the same room making grunting and groaning noises. This must be what our ancestors felt like - minus the weight bench. Sometimes when I've forgotten to charge my iPad and I'm bored, I try to categorize the Gym People. My favorite are The Screamers.

The Screamers are the people who purposely dial up the resistance too much or add too much weight to a machine. Then, once they realize that it's too much, instead of adjusting the machine to their fitness level, keep going so they don't seem like a pussy for turning it down. They make it through the first couple of minutes/reps with some strain, then decide to channel that strain into making some sort of noise. For males, it's more of a grunt. For females, it's an alarmed "Ahhhhh!" that slowly turns into a wail as the workout progresses. I'm always torn between reaching over and dialing down their machine or saying "I'll have what she's/he's having!"

AAAAHHHHHHH! Oh God! Oh God!

My next favorite category is The Exhibitionists. These people are not there to workout, they are there to be seen. Usually found standing near the mirrors, around the water fountain, or at the manager's desk; The Exhibitionist is dressed in the most expensive workout gear, with perfectly white tennis shoes. The females have perfectly styled hair and are in full makeup. A prerequisite of being a female Exhibitionist is that she must have a high pitched giggle. They also wear their training bra as a shirt, while the rest of us real people are in baggy t-shirts trying to hide our stretch marks and scars. The males are usually at least a little muscular, but I have no idea how, as I have never seen one actually workout. Maybe they have a Bowflex at home. The male Exhibitionist also sometimes wears a thong that peeks over the top of his shorts just to show how cool he is.

I'm too sexy for my shorts!

Other categories include, but are not limited to (Since I probably will never finish making these up):

-Creepy Sunglasses Guy: The man who never takes his sunglasses off. I never know what he's looking at.
-The Co-dependent Couple: The couple (may or may not be an actual couple) who find it physically impossible to workout without their counterparts. They also usually wear matching outfits.
-Mr./Ms. "You're Doing It Wrong": The know-it-all jerk who tries to correct your workout for you without being asked for help.
-Nosy Nancy: The person who believes she deserves to know your entire life's story simply because she chose the treadmill next to yours.


If you see any of these stereotypes in your local gym, be sure to notify the proper authorities. Afterward, tell me who the proper authorities are so I can report the offenders in my gym!

Did I forget any categories?

P.S. Sorry for all the crappy drawings, I felt creative. If you want true art, go somewhere else.

It's A New Dawn

Lately I've had the song "Feeling Good" stuck in my head. Partly because of the new Weight Watchers commercial with good ol' Whats-her-name, but mostly because I have a crap-ton of Michael Bublé on my iTunes.

           "It's a new dawn
           It's a new day
           It's a new life
           For me
           And I'm feeling good"

For some reason, these words have sparked something inside me. I realized that somewhere between getting married, having a beautiful daughter, and becoming a slave to those around me, I have lost my identity; and that I need to find it again. Therefore, I have decided that 2011 is the year that I reclaim myself.


I'm sure anyone who reads this is wondering "How in the hell do you expect to that, Katie?" You what my answer is? I have no idea. No. Freaking. Idea. That little, teeny, tiny fact truly terrifies me.

I considered becoming a nudist, but realized that I couldn't go to the grocery store anymore if I did. Well, I could, but it would be awkward. It would probably also end with me in handcuffs.... which could be fun in right conditions, but in that situation, probably not.

(Yes, I spent 20 minutes to draw a shitty picture in MS Paint.... I'm totally doing a crappy job of copying Hyperbole and a Half- She is so much more awesome than I am!) (p.s. sorry about the weird sizing, it gets bigger if you click on it.)

UPDATE: Strange Little Man (AKA my husband) read this and mentioned that he had no idea what this picture was, or how it related to the post. For those of you that are deprived of child-like art, it is me, nekked in the store.... (The wallet thing is funny because if I were naked, where would I put it? Get it? Oh, forget you!)

Anyway, I've decided to take it in baby steps.

Step One: Start a blog.
       Done. Whew! I feel empowered already! Okay, not really, but I do feel that having a place to write and sort my feelings and ideas will give me a place to put my brain when it doesn't work correctly.

Step Two: Make a list of things I would like to accomplish this year.
       This will take a while, and will cover many posts, but I can start today:
             1) Figure out why I suddenly have a loathing hatred for Taylor Swift.
             2) Learn to love my body no matter what size I am. Also to remember that the
                 number on my clothing tags are just that- a number. It does not define my
                 personality, what type of mom I am, or how I should feel in that article of clothing.
             3) Work on becoming a healthier me.
             4) Do one spontaneous thing at least once a month.
             5) Do one thing that pushes me out of my comfort zone and/or completely terrifies
                 me at least once a month.

     Five items to work on is a good start. I'm sure I'll come up with some more along the way.

Step Three: Ummmmmmmmmm... I'll get back to you, Step Three.

For now, I don't plan on posting every day. I'm not really writing for anyone but myself, but I will try to make it entertaining for anyone who cares to read about my clusterf*ck of a circus wonderful life.

Speaking of clusters, I do have a bit of a potty mouth. I am learning to censor it better, but there will be some days that I don't have the proper amount of brain cells to do so. It is not my intent to offend anyone, but I probably will. Even without my sailor speech enabled, I am not politically correct in any way.

2011, I am so ready to kick your butt!