Well shitballs

Let’s be clear that not only does weather with small (and possibly overactive toddler) make it nearly impossible to run outside. … it also spreads all kinds of germs so you can’t breathe, let alone breathe while running.  Thus I haven’t been running more than once every one to two weeks since my fall in December.  We are now less than 90 days away from the runDisney event and I’m in full on freak out mode. Add to that anxiety the fact that I don’t own a bathing suit (why would I, ain’t nobody wanna see this mess) and the anxiety heightens. So what do I do. ..
I use my real woman dollars at LB and get a $130 set for $54…. side note. Anyone else find it a little ironic that LB is short for Lane Bryant where us larger (and often taller) ladies shop. I always feel like I’m walking into an over eaters anonymous meeting (not joking I’ve gone to those it’s the feeling walking in that I’m referencing) as this giant “pounds” sign is over my head.
So I have this goal suit, we shall call it MY yellow polka dot bikini. For fucks sake even when I was fit (like 5’11” SD size 8 with a damn 4 pack after little effort) I didn’t dare wear a bikini,  thank you psycho mother for those projected body issues…. so I have this “sorta cute” blue “2 piece” that is basically a tank top with actual boob support and a “skirt”…. I got it in my current size with the hopes that it’ll “move like it’s meant to” in the next 60 days. … cause right now. …it’s a weeeee bit tight.
Okay it’s barely making it over my butt….
So

Belly sags from extra weight and shifting of fat after baby…. gotta fix that as spanx somehow missed the bathing suit for plus size market.

Being good about eating choices and working out every damn day… Even if it’s just stretching with the little guy.
Today it was PiYo core and 10 minute run. I’ve been stuck at a 17 minute mile since October so today’s at what would’ve been 16 minutes was great. I would’ve done the whole mile for tracking purposes but I was already late for pickup at daycare…. cause “work on me” only comes by flexing at work. Sigh

Pray for me to finish. I just want to finish without being carted in by a “cast member”….
#highgoals

Ella 

Well let’s never do THAT again

 

With roughly 120 days until death, I mean our ½ marathon, I figured I should share an update. I’m not doing so hot but keep reading (please).

I did a 5k, in North Dakota, in December, because I’m a moron. Here I thought, “Hey, we could finish in less than 3.5 hours I need to get a time in so we can get in like the fun corral!” or something like that. Robin won’t admit it but she’s a Speedy Gonzales and is already doing like 10 minute miles without killing herself. So it’s me that needs to catch up. She needs consistency, I need to get my lazy ass in gear. So I –was- running two days during the week, thanks to a decent flexing schedule and day care covering my ass, with one long run on the weekend. I say long, but really it just means I go for x distance. So I was doing 20-30 minutes “training” runs and then 2-6 miles on the weekend. I can survive. I will survive… but currently at the pace I’m going the Disney police will be carting my ass off the course and I won’t be a “finisher”… their rule is if you are slower than a 16 min/mile you are too slow to finish “on time” and are therefore disqualified from finishing… here I thought just making it to the finish line is what matter but, this is Disney World and they have a park to open with money to be made… so fuck me.

As if that rule alone didn’t sting… there’s this 5k. A “Santa run” all in good fun.

It was not fun

There were Santa’s

There was running

But there was no fun from my point of view, which was more often than not, from the ground. You see, here in the godforsaken land of North Dakota, there is ice… everywhere. The organizers told us that they “did the best” they could in clearing the tracks “but this is North Dakota and we run anyways, just try to be careful”… because being “careful” while RUNNING ON ICE is totally doable right?

Look, I know I’m not graceful, I’ve accepted that. But I WAS TRYING MY BEST NOT TO FALL AND FUCK ME I FELL EVERY SINGLE FUCKING TIME.

Like when I was walking.. I was fine… but I needed to get a time in and the path was all of 5 feet wide for the 430 people on the course so if you got stuck behind someone you’re stuck until the next junction….

I swear to Jesus, I was trying to get a decent time, my 300 pound self was chugging along at a 4 mile pace and staying JUST under my heart rate range limit… and as I would try to up it… I fell… then I’d have to walk until I recovered enough to feel up to running (or until I could get past some group of people laughing and talking about dinner plans)…. Then BAM on my ass again.

On my ass

On my knee

On my elbow, that hurt the worst.

ON MY BACK landing on a fucking rock that knocked the wind out of me and totally fucking embarrassed me as people stopped to make sure I was okay… and then keep running themselves. Which I appreciated, that was really nice of them to stop but still…

And I was FINE with the falling and the pain and the fucking torture of people LEAVING while I was still running because god dammit I was going to finish this with a decent time

I could’ve cheated and finished 6 minutes faster by doing only one loop instead of two in the final section… but I have morals … fucking morals.

SO I get to the finish line ready with my little stub of a paper to hand them so they can record an “official time”… at 53:15 so like 17 minute mile… THERE are groups of people taking pictures and a load of fucking people inside the building that was hosting… but no one at the line… so I walk inside, they hand me a giant fucking candy cane and say “great job you finally made it”… brush it off Ella, they don’t know what it took to get here… brush it off…. I ask “where do I turn in my stub to submit my time, there was no one at the finish line” this baffled woman says “I think they’re done with that part you could go ask them over there”… them over there… okay.. fine… I get this three times… three fucking times… I finally find the table where they are listing out the winners for each category and say, “who do I give this to so I can get my time recorded for online listing”.

I shit you not these words are forever fucking burned into my head:

“We only had someone taking the stubs until about 42 minutes, all the real runners where done long before that and we don’t have enough staff to get everyone that was walking”

How I’m not sitting in a jail cell right now I don’t fucking know.

I was fucking crushed. I know my time wasn’t going to get me into any kind of corral but I wanted something to show SOME improvement and I couldn’t believe someone would say that. The kicker, they had over 100 volunteers… four of which were within the last 30 feet of the finish line high fiving everyone as they passed… but not enough people to have someone scribble some numbers on a piece of paper…

Had I known… my first fall was maybe ten feet from my truck and I went alone, nothing was stopping me from just getting the keys out of the bed of the truck and leaving… nothing… but me. I could’ve gone home and ran in the comfort of my perfectly heated home and only had that one fall under my belt. No embarrassment. No one knew who I was. No one cared if I left. No one was “counting on me”. Like why the fuck didn’t I just leave? Had I not fallen all those time I really do think I could’ve done a 13-14 minute mile, ice and all, fucking HILLS and all. Fun fact, the incline in different areas was so steep my fitbit thought I did 17 floors…

I keep telling myself that had I known the time wasn’t going to matter I would’ve left right then and there, because that was the one that knocked the wind out of me… I don’t think anyone would’ve talked shit for me leaving after that one…

Sigh

So I send email to my doctor the next day because oh now I can’t even fucking walk… like it hurt to stand my legs were so sore. I can’t run until, well this week now, as that was almost three weeks ago. Loads of ibuprofen and positive reading and some yoga and now I think I’m okay to get back into the groove.

But I learned my lesson, never fucking again am I running in the snow/ice with a group that can’t get their shit together enough to record EVERYONE’S TIME.

 

#rantover

ELLA

This girl is on FI-YAAAAAAAAAAAA

Reasons I want to be a MILF

  1. Something about engaging in my marriage and being a piece for him or some shit like that.
  2. Something about being healthy to live long for my child, so I can keep up or some nonsense.
  3. School girl crush syndrome …

Yea… that’s pretty much it. Mostly the school girl crush thing… can’t lie.

Background:

Let’s call them Vinny & Smellson… I never did, but let’s pretend those are their names. Here’s the thing. If my wonderful and blissfully ignorant husband drops dead there are two people I would try to go after, TWO… that’s it. Not interested in meeting someone new, looking forward to the future blah blah blah. Nope, I want to pick up where I left off with two people I never dated in the first place.

I’m lame. Easy to see that, right? But with Vinny I get fucking butterflies and giddy beyond belief, to the point that I can’t even think straight. He made a reference one time to a movie that I could quote every line from start to finish, but guess what, he made the reference and I blanked. Think deer in the headlights blanked. Then for the next three weeks I just played that moment back thinking HOW DID YOU MESS THAT UP!!?!?! Gah… whatever, that happens every time I see him, granted last time was like 4 years ago but still… He’s that guy that I’ll never have but damn the man do I think about him like a LOT.

When it comes to Smellson, it’s a connection. It’s there, I see it, and not sure he ever saw it. Pretty sure he stopped talking to me because I started dating the husband when we were “hanging out more”. He made a comment once of “being respectful to a relationship”, I should’ve snapped back that it’s called DATING, not a relationship just yet. But yea. I miss him. I would’ve married him in a heartbeat but he never even had the balls to date me. He could ask me to move with him and “adventure in the Midwest” but not to fucking date me… Meh, that probably would’ve come if we did move… but I started dating other people and he decided to stay in CA so that never happened… and then look what happens, I end up in the fucking Midwest anyways… kill me now please. What’s funny is he was really getting into fitness when I was leaving, I think I’d be a MILF by now had we gotten together. Damnit!

Now back to the present:

A week or so ago I saw Vinny post something to social media about doing the Kessel Challenge, and laughed because who doesn’t love a star wars reference…. And then I thought… I wonder if that has to do with the runDisney stuff… meh… think nothing of it. Then I see him posting at dive bars in Orlando… what the what? Are you doing a half at Disneyworld right fucking now… omg…. Quick TO THE INTERNET! Sure as shit, if he runs a half/full at Disneyland (where we’re from so that’s feasible) and then the star wars half/full at Disneyworld (where Robin & I shall be) he’ll complete the challenge.

I stay silent on social media while doing the stiffest happy dance for the CHANCE to run into him in Orlando… the fucking CHANCE makes me giddy. How lame is that!?

So immediately I go from 0-90. I was just scrolling through Instagram before bed, but now, no no no… no sleep for me. Its meal planning and workout prep. I ordered cooling towels from amazon (smile.amazon of course) and then some healthy “run” snacks. I have my meals planned out for this week, including lunches. I have my workouts and runs scheduled and ready to go. I started three “challenges” on fitbit with some friends to make sure I’m at least hitting my 10k steps on my cross training days. I went shopping and spent an hour or so chopping, slicing, cooking and packing to make sure my fridge is littered with healthy-ish options for snacking and eating (which is hard because baby don’t like soup so I have to cook separate meals for him).

WHY the sudden boost in motivation… reason #3. The chance to see someone who makes me smile just by proximity. We hug, that’s how we greet. I’m a hugger that is just how I am. To clarify, I would never cheat, this is just so that I can know that I’ll feel good while possibly being around someone that makes me feel like a moron.

I want to know that if I see him at say, mile marker 10, that I will still be: breathing, upright, and not a wobbly fat mess.

Goal SET! I’m ready for this shiz!

Ella

Overachieving badass

No really, my ass is terrible. Also, the worst set up in the world is what I went with when I brought my treadmill home. I wanted it in my bedroom so I could be close if baby woke up AND so I would have to stare at it getting in my way EVERY. DAMN. DAY. Which is working out great. I’m on a tues/thurs/sat running schedule with mon/wed/fri for cross training and Sunday for weights (those are downstairs where I rarely hangout).

The ass part comes in with the fact that while I’m on the treadmill I have a dresser with a large mirror to my left and a full length mirror directly in front of me. I thought ahead about the full length mirror because I wanted to watch my stride… I did not, however, think of the mirror to my left…

When I look to my left all I can see is my big ‘ole ass bouncing around back there… it ain’t pretty folks… I don’t care how much my husband loves “dat ass”… It’s just bad… thus… bad-ass… I don’t care about my chicken wings, double chin, muffin top, giant belly, thighs that could light a fire… it’s my ass that bugs me. That bad damn ass…

On the overachieving side of things: training is rough. I’m struggling with keeping the “right” pace for training and constantly feel like I should be going faster. That I’m not working hard enough, even though my legs feel like they might snap underneath me. My hip hurts. I feel like I can breathe through the running so I know it’s not my endurance, but it is, if that makes any sense. But this all goes back to my childhood and feeling like I’m not enough, not doing enough, not good enough, etc.

(Physical) Therapy has gone well so far, have some new abdomen routines to work with to keep my core from falling apart essentially. Yay for baby while being incredibly overweight (not true). My left leg is indeed longer than my right but not enough to warrant any kind of “special” or “orthopedic work ups”. Although the physical therapist did say to see how I feel after running for an extended period of time, we shall see what happens in that area.

My first training timed interval run I did an 18:31 pace (per Robin’s awesome math skills) so as of right now I would be carted off the runDisney course for being too slow… let’s improve that number shall we?

So that’s where I am at right now. Will be doing my first “long” run in training this weekend. Wish me luck.

Ella

Lavendar is TOO relaxing

            So I find that every now and then essential oils come up in discussions on common childhood ailments and issues. In the beginning I was totally skeptical, but then I was rocking a gassy three month old who was screaming his head off and I figured, it couldn’t get worse. I gave it a try. While I am nowhere near being “a new believer” I will say that the results are pretty damn remarkable. I’ve used oil concoctions for teething, gas, and runny noses to date. Stuff works, gotta give the EO people that. Joe was incredibly fussy the other day and I figured why not add some oil to his bath to help calm him down a bit quicker before bed. I added the oils and left Joe in the tub with my husband to watch over him and wash him off.

Within five minutes of finishing the dishes I hear “LAVENDAR IS TOO RELAXING! THERE IS CRAP IN THE TUB!!!” coming from the bathroom. Apparently Joe was relaxed enough to poop in the tub, something my husband had never experienced before. I walk in to see him holding Joe up in one arm and using the strainer we keep in the bathroom for his toys after baths to fish out the poop which, according to him was “disintegrating too quickly to catch all of it”. I was laughing too hard at the stressful issue at hand while I tell him to pull the plug and “just rinse him off, and I’ll clean up”. I have a feeling I should copyright that saying for as much as I say it with him.

My husband is a social creature and immediately took to informing a dad-to-be friend of ours of all that he has to look forward to… as though that was helpful.

*sigh*

Ella

Ella training – a total work in progress

My stride must be off. It feels like one leg is longer than the other, almost like I’m dragging one leg. Knee surgery from high school is messing with me, I always baby my left leg and when I attempted to jog on the treadmill for the first time in… well… ever, I noticed that it seemed like I was dragging my leg. The way my left foot hit was different and after one singular mile my hips hurt… so off to chiropractor and running shoe store (easy up-sell for today) for an evaluation I will go.
I actually have an appointment to talk to my general doctor about my gait, to make sure it’s not something I need old people orthopedic shoes for… cause those, those babies are hella sexy

But the answers to why I’m doing this are as follows:

YES I totally got caught up in Robin’s hype and excitement for doing a runDisney event.

YES I want to stay on track for continuing to lose the weight I gained before, during, and after baby.

YES I totally want to do this damn thing that I’ve talked about doing for over three years now and be held accountable by someone who will be doing it with me…

but mainly, and this is so so fucking wrong, but I’m doing this damn thing because a cocksucker in another department was joking with a co-worker of mine. When the subject came up that I was going to do this whole 1/2 marathon event, his response was, “she doesn’t even like getting up to go to the printer”. Fucka youa dude.

like OUCH, did you really need to say that? Yes I’m incredibly lazy here at my state office job. But I stay in my corner cubicle to avoid hearing those kinds of interactions. The audible conversations of those that have nothing better to do than to shit talk about other people. Not going to lie; Robin and I are total damn bitches on gChat about other people but we do it in private, like the fucking ladies we are.

So there you have it, where I’m at so far and the reasons for running.

I ran out of diapers

             My child is borderline lactose intolerant, like he can have milk as long as that is his only dairy for the day. If he has cheese then he better not have more than a couple of cups of milk. We have ratios and in general we know how to work with his diet. My husband apparently pays attention to none of that. In one of the rare occasions that he tried to help out by giving me time in the house alone; he went out with Joe. He was gone for a total of three hours, to the library, the zoo, the grocery store and even the parking lot for an impromptu nap. You know, when a kid passes out within two minutes of getting to your destination and the number one rule is to never wake a sleeping baby… yea…

            Well, during his outing I was occansioanlly receiving picture text updates of where they were and what they were doing. It went something like this

At the library: he sure does love that fish tank

At the zoo: look babe, he loves ice cream

Parking Lot: guess I have to wait to go inside huh?

At the store: I think we need this mask

I did not reply because, well, my hands were covered in paint and I pretty much got all these texts at once. But I noticed the ice cream and thought… he knows better, he has to… and then I hear the garage door open. I count the steps, yes he’s rushing, and then I hear the door slam… YUP he’s rushing. I greet my husband who is holding a pissed off toddler and a disheveled diaper bag. This is how it went down:

Husband: I ran out of diapers, I had to bring him home, that diarrhea is unbelievable, I don’t know what he ate that made him poop so much, it’s everywhere…

ME: How much dairy did he have?

Husband: He only had his bottle, the rest was just his snack poofs while we were shopping….he went through three diapers in an hour!

ME: so not TWO cones of ice cream?

Husband: He LOVED THOSE

ME: I love chocolate, that doesn’t mean it won’t turn on me and make me fat…

Husband: I’ll go get the bath ready….