Back in the Saddle

It's true, blog family, I have returned. I hope that you have not forgotten about me in my absence. About a week and a half ago, I fell of the wagon--and then it ran me over. I am having a very hard time overcoming my fatigue after long days at work. Once I collapse on the couch, I am done for the evening. My poor husband is beginning to catch on to my little tricks to get him to come in the living room to hand me the tv remote from the coffee table, turn on a lamp, plug in my laptop, or bring me drinks. I have even been attempting in vein to teach my itty bitty dog to fetch me the remote when I need it, but she just looks at me with judgement in her eyes.

After a weekend of soul-searching, I have reached inside and pulled out my buried motivation. I am still signed up for a 5k in just two weeks (PANIC!). I am determined to finish it, even if I am the very last one to cross the finish line. I bought some tight exercise pants to prevent chafing during my training, loaded a couple more playlists onto my IPod, and my sweet husband mounted a tv in the treadmill room. I am back in the saddle!

Thanks for keeping me honest, dear readers. A special thanks to guy I like to call "Gymothy." He gave me a book about ultra-marathon runner, Dean Karnzes. This man is a maniac--he actually fell asleep while he was running. He has run 226 miles non-stop--which puts my 3 mile 5k in perspective! So far, it has been a pretty good read...

Funky Funk

Ask and ye shall receive, fan club. I have heard your pleas for a new blog post, and I have decided to grant your request. The truth is that I have not been blogging for the past several days because I am currently in the midst of a self-pitying, down-in-the-dumps, royal funk. My motivation has plummeted.

My work schedule has been so demanding lately that I have been getting home past 8:00 pm for the past week. I had the most wonderful plan to walk 3 miles with my nauseatingly fit sister during our visit in Chapel Hill this past weekend. What actually happened was that I was out late on a crisis call Friday night and was not able leave for Chapel Hill until 8:00 am the next morning. I arrived in Chapel Hill and was quickly swept up in a whirlwind tour of 5 potential wedding venues for my sister's upcoming wedding.

As a side note, I had the horrific experience of trying on a potential bridesmaid's dress for my sisters wedding. It was yellow, floor length, and entirely too tight. I looked like a lumpy banana. The other potential option was a strapless, knee length cocktail dress covered in blue flowers. It looked really good on the tall and thin Maid of Honor. I, however, would look like a sofa, or at least an overstuffed ottoman. Her wedding is not until next year, so perhaps after I have completed my half marathon, I will no longer look like plush furniture when I try on the dress.

On Monday, I was sidelined with a migraine headache and went to bed as soon as I arrived home from work. Yesterday and today, I arrived home after 8:00 pm from work. I have to find a way to work out during the day or (I am cringing even as I type this) the morning. I think I have actually become one of those obnoxious people that feel depressed if they do not exercise.

Help me, readers! I have lost my mojo and I don't know where to find it!

High Point

Whereas last Friday was my low point, Wednesday night was/is my high point, thus far. I went to the gym, plugged in my killer playlist, and walked until my legs fell off (3 miles in 1 hour, to be exact). It had been a particularly challenging day at work. I don't know what was in the water, but every client I saw was ridiculously obnoxious. While on the treadmill, I created a very therapeutic visualization activity in which I pictured myself stomping on each and every one of them. I highly recommend this technique.

Once I had successfully stomped on all of my nemeses, I relied on my trusty playlist to get me through the next 45 minutes. I put my list on shuffle and got into the groove. Just when I though I could not possibly take another step, the Black Eyed Peas kicked me into high gear. As my energy began to wane again, old-school Britney Spears (before she was crazy) got me over the hump. For the piece de resistance--at the moment when I was slumped over with my arms braced on the rails, holding up my legs--I heard those familiar sirens, and I knew that I would work through my pain, because P. Diddy had come to my rescue with Shake Ya Tail Feather. Coma victims can't even resist the urge to dance to this song. For the first time in my entire life, I actually enjoyed exercising.

However, my enjoyment was short lived. I quickly understood why women wear tight exercise pants. My loose fitting sweats did nothing to keep the friction created by my thighs rubbing together from becoming potential fire hazard. An hour of constant skin on skin contact reeks havoc on the sensitive area of the inner thigh. I eventually stopped the treadmill and hiked my pants up as far as they would go, thus creating the worst wedgie I have ever experienced (I am sure the man on the treadmill behind me found me absolutely irresistible at that moment). I am still feeling the burn today.

I have decided that, no matter how ridiculous I look, tomorrow I am going to purchase the tightest, most unflattering exercise pants I can find...