Monday, September 22, 2014

Plano Balloon Festival Half Marathon

Ruck funning, fuh rull. I'm half marathoned out for a good long while. I've forgotten why people like doing this shit. It's hot as balls outside, there's a bajillion people and you pay money to run long distances. What? No entiendo.

But I do it, because I'm crazy.

Ima get down and dirty - I didn't train for this half much at all. The longest "long" run I did to prep was 8 miles like 2 months ago. It's summer in Texas, even at 6am it's 90 degrees. I'm simply not running over 3 miles in that heat for fear of dying on the side of the road pre-dawn and the 8-5ers not having time to stop to help me before they pick up their Starbucks on the way in to their mid-level management job. It's called self-preservation. It's also called why-this-half-was-so-awful. Turns out I can run 13.1 miles with little to no real training, but every single step of it past mile 3 was the worst.

And I did.
But he wasn't.
Shirt from Look Human.

The good news? I PR'd the first 5k because I was hoping my shirt would will Tom Hiddleston to the finish line. I was at 26:45 at mile 3 and I've never done a 5k in under 30 minutes. Yeahhhhhhhh buddy. I PR'd the whole race, tuh be honest. Finished in about 2:20 and my last PR was 2:35. I'm pretty dern happy with that, but I'm also happy it's over.

Even though it was SO hot and humid out and, simply put, I wasn't prepared, this was my favorite race. My son had never seen me at a real race before and I got to take him to this one.

Pre-race looking at the hot air balloons.

The whole reason I started getting healthy and fit and staying that way (that part is key) is to be a good example for him, so it meant a lot that he could be there and see me at the finish line.

Mile one I finished in 8:45. I was bookin' it because I wanted to catch up to my friend, Jen. We ran together at about a 9 minute mile for a while, but since my stomach is such a jerk and I can't eat real food before working out (I have to drink stuff, like half a protein shake and my pre-workout in this case), I had to pee supah bad. I stopped at the first portapotty I saw (at mile 5) and it wasn't even gross. (This was one of my only non-gross portapotty experiences ever.) I never regained my speed at that point and didn't catch back up to her. I was on my own from miles 5-10ish when Skinny Meg came up behind me. Thank the lawd, because I was about to throw in the towel. (Okay not really, but I definitely needed some motivation.) It was so hot. And I was so hungry (see before about not being able to eat beforehand). The only thing keeping me going was that I wanted that damn hot air balloon medal for my kid. Skinny Meg and I kept each other from punching the other runners in the neck and we finished it out together, picking up the pace as we saw water stations in the distance. Did I mention that it was hot out?

Check these splits, bruh.

The last mile really fukt my time. Mile 5 was slower because that's when I stopped to pee, then it was alllll downhill from there. About mile 10 is when Skinny Meg ran into me and I was slightly re-energized as we picked up the pace a little bit, then that wore off and we were dragging ass the last mile. 

The thing they don't tell you about half marathons is that you run way more than 13.1 miles. You're weaving in and out of the crowd, so running back and forth down the street really adds to your distance. Sho does feel good to pass people, though. (On your left.)

Once I crossed that finish line and got my medal, my son and my dad appeared. The kid was so happy, it was the best. I gave him my medal and we parked it in the shade for a while. He sat in my lap and it hurt my legs so much because I should have been stretching, but I just couldn't say no. He was just so excited about his new necklace and the gatorade from the finish line.

It was all totally worth it. That said, I'm half marathoned out for a while. This wasn't my last one ever though, because finishing a half in under 2 hours is on my bucket list. Know what's not on my bucket list? A full marathon. This race really solidified that for me. I'm totally okay with not having that 26.2 sticker on my car.

Friday, September 19, 2014

Frisky Friday: So are we like a thing?

I'm gonna have to start being frisky on other days of the week up in here. By Friday I'm tired and busy and get off me, I have a headache

That's how it starts. It's allllll downhill from the first fake headache. (Or fake anything, ifyaknowwhatimean.)

New relationships are weird and foreign and usually my tactic is to sleep around make totally educated and sober decisions about my love life until I get bored. That's basically a summary of my life since the big D. The divorce D, not the other thing. Let's just say I wouldn't label all of the other D's I've encountered as "big" (zing!)

So at what point are you and someone you're dating a "thing"? How do you decide? Is it a duration of time or number of dates that passes? Should you just show up at his house in a wedding dress with his and hers funeral plots picked out on your second date? Do you just not say anything until it's just understood because you've been dating for 3 years and you bought a cat together? If you're like me, you just straight up ask the question after a handful of dates that went seemingly well and gauge his response. Definitely ask him while he's naked on top of you, on the very first date if possible. Guys love that. (Don't actually do that.) 

Good Response: 

So, are we like a thing? "Yeah, I think so." "Yes." "I'm not sure I'm in a place to date someone right now." "No, I'm just not that into you."

These are all perfectly reasonable answers to a blunt, potentially awkward question, especially if it's the answer you want to hear. No matter how badly you want to, please do not follow up with, "OMG, like on Facebook?" unless it's 100% ironic and he understands that. And if it's a let down? At least you know now and you won't catch the clap from him and his wandering pants.

Not Great Response: 

So, are we like a thing? "I guess we could be." "It's getting late, I better go." "It's getting late, you better go."

You guess we could be? Could be? LOLNOPE. Nice try, bruh, but this sounds like a recipe for disappointment and mediocrity.  I'm gonna need a man who definitely wants to be all up in this, or else pretty soon we'll both be faking headaches. It's been real, NEXT.

Either way, at least you have an answer. Communicating effectively is my favorite. Ain't nobody got time to play games, I'm a grown ass woman with shit to do. 

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Confesh Sesh

1. I have a half marathon on Sunday that I feel completely unprepared for. I mean, my longest run has been 7 miles like 2 weeks ago. And the last time I ran at all was Friday. Saturday? Thursday? I don't even know. Feck.

2. I don't really like running long distances. (Insert that one emoji with the teeth and the squinty eyes here.) I'm just kind of over it. 5 miles or less? Cool. 13.1? Nah. Been there, done that. 26.2? No thank you. Not never, just not now. It doesn't mean I don't like fitness, I'm still killin' in the the gym 5ish days a week.

3. I don't use shaving cream when I shave my legs, and I only shave them when I know they will be touched by someone. (There for a while I had really hairy legs.)

4. I really liked The Tourist. Fuck all you haters.

5. My best betch gave me a jar of this Biscoff Cookie Spread(crunchy) for my birthday and I ate the whole thing by the finger-scoop full in like a week. That shit is dangerous so, so good you won't even bother with a spoon.

What are your confessions? Tag #confeshsesh on Twitter or Instagram!

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Kid Parties: How to Get Out Alive

I love my kid so hard. That's why I do nice things for him like throw birthday parties annually near the time he emerged dramatically from my ute, even though all of my mom friends and I voted unanimously that kid's parties are the worst thing about parenthood. They. Are. Awful. It's not so bad when the kid is your own (because life is full of double standards), but there's always weird drama and assjokes you don't want to invite but have to and shitface kids who won't stfu while you're sitting there calmly thanking the LAWD that your kid isn't the worst behaved one at the party.

Question: Have you ever witnessed an asshole kid take something from your kid, then the kid's parent(s) don't do a damn thing about it? Ooooo weee that makes my blood boil somethin' fierce

Here are a few tips (just the tip) for going to a child's birthday party and coming out alive from a seasoned introvert expert:

1. Pre-party. You know what I mean. Kids get juice while you're sippin' on gin and juice. Laid back. With your mind on your money and your money on your mind.

2. Don't make eye contact with other adults at the party lest you get cornered by a woman named Rainbow in purple horn rimmed glasses telling you that you really must try her homemade quinoa kale breast milk casserole. Nah, I think I'll stick with my original plan of not consuming any breast milk today, thanks.

3. Avoid blue icing at all costs, or else you will deal with bloop later. (You can figure it out, I have faith.) 

4. Assume no one will understand your sarcasm. It will save you a lot of awkward stares and blatant judgment if you just keep yo mouth shut and make the hilarious joke later on to your friends. (Orange you glad you took this advice? *eyebrow waggle*)

5. Reward yourself for sticking it out through weird party parents, kid meltdowns and sugar highs. You deserve that PSL. Get a grande just this once (because a venti is just too much, it's not like you ended terrorism). Full fat. With whip. You go on witcho bad self.

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Pink, it's not even a question

You know how you do that thing where you're watching tv late at night and messing around on your phone? You're probably looking at social media or news or pinterest, and eventually you run out of stuff to look at so you explore your b-string apps like maybe a game or something. In my case, I look at things on Amazon and read reviews which leads me to other things and yadda yadda yadda I insomnia-ordered a pink treadmill.

No lie.

It's this oneand the reviews are spot on. It's really only meant for short people because of the length of the belt, and I'd be nervous to use it if I weighed any more than I do (130-135ish), much less up to the 250lb weight max they list, but dat color doe. And how can you beat free shipping? I've started the path to making a real life Barbie dream house and I don't hate it.

Y'all, it's a pink treadmill. I mean, how could you NOT buy it immediately? 

Pro tip: I got a mat to put on the floor so it wouldn't scratch up the wood and I'm glad I did. It feels much sturdier/slip-proof that way. 

It's a basic (who you callin' basic?), inexpensive treadmill with zero frills aside from the color. It's perfect for someone like me who generally prefers to run outside but can't always fit it in my work/mom/life schedule because people generally frown upon leaving a toddler at home alone while I do a cool 7 miles around my neighborhood.

I spent a hunnit and fiddy dollahs on it (thanks, reward points!) and I would definitely buy it again based on what my needs are - the occasional indoor run when I have to, maybe once a week. Twice max. I also like that it's a cool conversation piece. I'm 5'2", so the short belt is fine for me. It's not high tech or fancy, and it's even a bit jilty (<-- new word for today) if you're just walking on it. I can't wait to catch up on Walking Dead next time I use it. Maybe I'll even finally watch Breaking Bad so I can be down on the 411 like the rest of the world, who knows. The first time I used it, I had to watch a shirtless, muscular, tattooed man do P90X3. What is that even about? (Just awful to see. Gouge my eyes out, why don't you.)

Long story short, you need pink treadmill in your life.

Monday, September 8, 2014

Sittin' Pretty

I have 2 toilets in my home. One is pretty sweet because it would whistle every time it was flushed, loudly. As in, people commented about it. They said things like, "Tea's done!" and "Dude, what the fuck is wrong with your toilet." And I said things like, "Ha, great one!" and "Fuck if I know, bro." You know, tailoring my response as appropriate as any good host would do. (False, a good host wouldn't have a whistlin' toilet.)

My whistlin' toilet made flushing fun! (By "fun", I just mean loud and/or annoying.) It had done it since the dawn of time, aka since I've lived here. It wasn't until I had a manly man who knows stuff about fixin' stuff over recently that pointed it out and then said, "You need a new ballcock," which I thought was a pick up line, but as it were, that's a real thing. *snicker*

Turns out I'm excellent at handling a ballcock. First, I acquired a new ballcock from my local hardware store. Since size doesn't typically matter, I got an average one. It would be awkward to go too big for my first time. Once I fit it in the hole, I held the shaft firmly while I twisted from the bottom, making sure it didn't slip out of my hand. Note: Things can get moist in the process.

Long story short, I fixed my toilet like a real-life homeowner. (But it needed a cigarette after.)

Friday, September 5, 2014

Frisky Friday: Rainbow Road

I love sausage, I do. But tacos aren't so bad, are they? I'd say I'm 90% pro-sausage and 10% pro-taco.

Don't get me wrong. A sweaty, muscular, tattooed man with a scruffy beard who just got done fixing something is one of my favorite things on this sweet earth. (Dang, that is a sweet earth.) That's why I'm like 85% pro-sausage.

He looks like he's about to fix something, right? Too bad he doesn't have tattoos. Or a beard. And he isn't sweaty. 
I'm starting to rethink this picture.

I just feel like I can appreciate the beauty of females. Like Yoncé and Mila Kunis. It's what makes me 20% pro-taco.

Women are just so different from men. Not in a "we deserve to make less money" or "we can't handle real jobs" way, but in a pretty, soft, curvy way. Plus, it seems like there's lady t&a slapping us in the face (figuratively) all over the media (ahem, Game of Thrones), it's amazing more people aren't 25% pro-taco like I am. It's the secret agenda of pop culture.

No reason. I'm just looking.

I do believe everyone is on a sliding homo-scale, whether we like it or not. Is anything black and white, ever? (The whole Nazi thing was pretty black and white, I guess. Can't really see the good side of that one. Also zebras.) So it's totally cool that I'm 70% pro-sausage. Normal, even. For this reason, I think we should all get a male and a female hall pass. No reason to discriminate. Mine would be Tom Hiddleston and Yoncé.

High five, bro. Glad we sorted that out.