Day 2 of Training: Completed!

I did it. I ran 3 miles on my lunch break with my runner person. I feel good; I think I'm still sweating, but that's OK. Last night was stretch and strengthening with yoga. The yoga teacher wore orthopedic shoes during the whole class. She moves at my speed, that one. Also, a fire alarm was going off during our "meditation time" at the end of class. Chi: Unharnessed.
I did a little more stretching and strengthening on my walk over to the gym, too. Only this time, it was because a rather large, elderly woman tripped and fell in the middle of a crosswalk on Madison Avenue. Usually, I'd laugh my head off, step over her and continue laughing, but we're at the tail end of the giving season so I tried to help her up.
It was difficult, but not because she was of above average weight. She was wearing a disgusting floor-length fur coat (for shame!) which was VERY slippery and slick from the lubricated souls of murdered animals. I tried to grip her arm, but it was so gross and sliding all around. She just kept saying, "Ohhh, help! Help me up!" Jesus, lady, I'm trying! I wanted to tell her that she should walk more like me: without a fur coat and with your head down at all times. Looking people in the eye and making human connections is very hazardous.
Tomorrow: 2 mile run or cross training.

Impending Doom

So, yes, a half marathon. That's 13.1 miles. That's a little more than three times the distance I've ever ran in my entire life. Sit with that for a moment. Are you scared? Because I'm scared.
The race is on March 21st, but let's not call it a race. Let's call it an impending accomplishment. I can do this, right? I find out on January 6th if I even have a slot in the "impending accomplishment" (sidenote: after googling "impending" to make sure I'm using the word correctly, the first suggested drop down is "impending doom" - gulp).
After I - ahem - win the lottery, I get to pay $90 to run until I can't feel my lower extremities. I've already been warned that my toe nails are going to be doing some strange things over the next few months (!!) of training.
But, let's back up. A few weeks ago my dear friend and lifelong member of Team That's What She Said emailed me asking if I wanted to sign up for the lottery with another member of Team TWSS. I hesitated, but thought this would be a great reason to get in shape and have a goal to work towards. When I went to sign up, the site asks a very obnoxious question: "What is your projected finish time?" And, really, what do I know about running times? I selected 4.5 hours - seems reasonable, right? Well, I get a pop-up that says, "For the safety of you and the other runners, you must complete this race in under 3 hours and 30 minutes". Shoot. Not looking good so far.
Tonight is the first day until the end of my life, er, of the rest of my life. I'm following this training program, so expect to hear very loud whining from across the New York Metropolitan area on every Sunday until March 21st. I think it's very cruel to make me run 3 miles on day TWO of the training, but we'll get there guys. Also, I've decided that whether or not I'm accepted, I'm still going to train.
Luckily, I have the support of two wonderful friends, the new running shoes from Santa Claus and various running outfits to pull sweat away from my body. Did I ever mention that during a 5K, I sweat so much that my iPod stopped working? Yes, it was tucked in between the two sports bras I have to wear - not the best safe-keeping place - but still, pretty gross.

Team: That's What She Said

Saturday I ran a 4-mile race with a few of my girlfriends. Our team name? That’s What She Said.
I woke up and had to be on the subway by 8 a.m. Even though it was early, it was filled to the brim (That’s What She Said). Soon, I was riding it with my friend (TWSS). You know, because we live in the same neighborhood.
Outside it was starting to get really warm. I was feeling warm, too (TWSS). We met up with a few other friends in Central Park. Another friend decided to lead us in a group stretch (TWSS). I’ve never felt more limber (TWSS)! It was definitely important for us to stretch because who knew how long we’d be going for (TWSS).
The park was so crowded with lots of athletes ready to run! With a scream and whistle, we were getting off (TWSS) on our start – not before we had a group cheer, of course. All of us did it at a different pace (TWSS).
There were so many curves and ups and downs (TWSS). Halfway through, my hip really started to hurt; I guess I wasn’t used to all that movement (TWSS)!
As much as we would have liked to, we couldn’t finish together (TWSS). But, wow, what a great time!

Everybody Dance Now

All day yesterday I was still sore from my night with the trainer, but I decided to power through with a Power Dance class at NYSC.
It took a lot of motivation because it was snowing horizontally on the walk to the gym - and I had a hole in my boot. I didn't know what to expect when I got there, but heard that it might be tough because sometimes the classes rotate in fours where they work on one dance routine every four weeks.
When I lined up for the class, I saw some people that looked like professional dancers. (I know what professional dancers look like because I own "Center Stage" and "Save the Last Dance" on DVD.) I even saw a guy that was wearing real dance shoes and what appeared to be the bottom half of a figure-skating costume - he wasn't hiding ANY secrets.
Before the class started, I was talking with another girl who had never taken the class before so we made a pact to stay together, and to keep going back week after week. The (male) instructor walked in wearing a circa early '90s Janet Jackson tour T-shirt and some very tight yoga pants. He said hello to a lot of the dancers who had been taking his class for awhile, some for as long as four years. He said, "Hi guys! Hi newbies! Just to let you know, I won't be dancing with you tonight because I just had a face lift and lipo the other day - don't want to pop a stitch!"
We started stretching, doing crunches, going through the positions of ballet (thanks again, Center Stage!).
I had so much fun in the class, I'm still on the high. I forgot how much I love to dance, learn routines and be sassy in front of a mirror. Plus, we danced to the best songs in the world.

What Am I Supposed To Do About My Legs?

Remember that scene in Who Framed Roger Rabbit when Judge Doom gets steamrolled, and they find out he's a 'toon? He's trying to stand up and walk, but he's all wobbly and can't get his balance.
Well, that's what I feel like today ... only a lot worse.
A few weeks ago, I went to take a yoga class at New York Sports Club and the teacher was a few minutes late. A NYSC employee came into the class, took our information and we would all receive a free session with a personal trainer as an apology.
Last night was the session. I met with the trainer right after work, wearing a shirt I got after participating in a 4-mile running race to let him know I was a serious athlete.
We talked for a few minutes about eating habits, drinking habits, his successes and failures as well as mine. I refused to get on the scale, but agreed to do the body fat/BMI calculation. The good news: I'm about average. The bad news: The session didn't end there.
He started me out with jumping jacks, resting (and by resting, he meant running in place), doing high knee kicks, "resting", jumping in place, etc. I was winded, but I felt pretty good. Then, he had me do at least 50 squats which was a poor decision on his part.
After the squats, I had to do reverse squats - starting out on the floor and standing up over and over and ... I started to get that familiar feeling I had two summers ago on that hot subway platform. I thought I was going to faint again or vomit.
NYSC also made an ill-informed decision to use a polka-dot pattern on their floor which subsequently was creating one of those 3D images - only, I couldn't see the sailboat, I just saw the floor coming to meet my face.
I didn't think the trainer could do much damage in an hour session, so I didn't plan ahead and bring a rubber band to pull my hair back. I just had my usual hairstyle of pieces of hair pinned everywhere with bobby pins. By the end of the session there were bobby pins strewn EVERYWHERE. But, we weren't done yet.
After lifting weights for 30 minutes (!!), he gave me my evaluation (yikes), what I need to work on (everything) and asked if I wanted to sign up to meet with him again (no way). He was really nice, and completely understood that financially I couldn't do it and said if he saw me at the gym again he'd work out with me, which was kind - even if it was a total lie.
The worst part of the night, though, was getting home. Walking up and down stairs for the subway, standing for more than 2 minutes and having the energy to make a healthy dinner. Also, I bought some hand soap last week that for some reason smells like tequila. We all know my history with the drink, so smelling that after almost vomiting on my trainer was enough to send me to bed early.

My Chi: Unharnessed

I've been taking yoga classes lately as a part of the "New Year, New Me/Operation Hot Bridesmaid" campaign. The New Year, New Me part is to work on being calm and dealing with my stress/seasonal depression in a productive way, rather than shutting everyone out of my life except Ben and Jerry. The Operation Hot Bridesmaid is pretty self-explanatory. If you need some help, I'm going to be a bridesmaid in my friends' wedding in November and I'd like to be "hot" for lots of reasons I won't be listing here.
Last night I had plans to meet a friend of mine - who is also on a fitness quest - for a yoga class at the New York Sports Club at 49th and Broadway. I left work, headed to the gym in below-freezing temperatures, changed and went to the front desk to ask where the yoga studio is.
He looked confused (which wasn't initially alarming, NYSC employees are a different breed of dimness) and said, "There's no yoga class tonight." Ever eager to take all the blame on myself, I apologized for wasting his time, went into the locker room, got my stuff and headed back out into the cold. I walked a few blocks north to the NYSC at 52nd and Broadway and asked if there was a yoga class tonight. Of course not.
I asked the employee, at 5:43 pm, if he wouldn't mind checking on his computer to see where the 5:45 pm Vinyasa Yoga class was being held.
"What, like on the Internet?" he asked.
Apparently my focus and centering challenges decided to begin before I hit the mats with the class. Desperately trying to steady my eyes from rolling, I waited "patiently" as it took him, no joke, five minutes (with joke, 23 HOURS) to figure it out.
"Your class is at 49th and Broadway," he drooled.
On the verge of frozen tears, I walked back to the original destination, re-locked up my stuff and huffed my way downstairs to the studio. I couldn't concentrate during the whole class because A) I was still upset about what just happened B) it was incredibly hot in the studio and C) the woman next to me was breathing SO loud that I wanted to leave, buy her some nasal spray and throw it at her head. Ommmmm.
I tried to let it all go, but the universe was very persistent. I got home to make dinner (a balanced egg whites with light English muffin!) and the crumb tray on my toaster decided to empty all over my kitchen like it had just sneezed. I vacuumed it up and moved on. Ommmmm. After dinner I realized it was finally time to put the last of my Christmas decorations away (what?) and took down this bright pink tinsel tree I had on top of my cabinets in the kitchen. When I was taking it down, an ornament dislodged and shattered all over the kitchen floor. I vacuumed again. Ommmmm.
I'm a student in progress right now, but I definitely need to work on exercising more patience and ALWAYS doubting a NYSC employee.

Sore Loser

I hate pilates.
In my new strides toward a fitter me, I took a pilates class last night with a friend of mine and it was terrible. I've done four mile races, Turkey Trotted my way through a local park in the rain, I've moved entire apartments by myself and endured the harsh winters of the east coast after spending most of my childhood in the California sun, but my god - ask me to hold one position with my legs and arms in the air for more than 10 seconds and I want to scream bloody murder.
Going into the class, I figured it'd be easy enough. I'd just work on my core, improve - ok, get - some balance and roll around on the mat for an hour. It was my first studio class after a two year absence. I stopped going to anything yoga or mat-related after an unfortunate farting incident at my old gym. "It happens!" is the response I always get, but you try living on a high-fiber diet and doing the downward dog position and not letting something escape. The knowing look from the instructor was enough to keep me away.
So last night, even as my friend and I were leaving the class, we could tell today was going to be rough. I'm sore in places I didn't even know you could be, like on my lower back where I should have gotten a tattoo during Spring Break '04 in Cancun (although, that could be sympathy sore for all the tramp stamps girls are rockin' at my gym). It hurts when I burp, and I can't find a comfortable sitting position right now. I know being sore means "it's working" but I think I'll just go back to running for now.

I don't fit in at my gym.

Here are a few things the girl in the first row of treadmills thought about at the gym:
I hope they're playing my favorite House music re-mixed by DJ Clue.
There better be at least five guys who can bench press double my weight who will stare at me as I mount the treadmill.
I hope the booty shorts I decided to run in don't cover up my Playboy Bunny tattoo I had strategically placed on my lower back for such occasions.
The shirt I decided to wear looks really great on me, but you know, it looks better off of me and hanging on my treadmill.

Here are a few things I thought about at the gym:
Doesn't my iPod volume go up any higher to drain out this awful music?
Good lord, why couldn't every guy decide to skip the gym today, I'm sweating too much.
It's best to wear two sports bras at once to create the best pancake boob effect I can.
My droopy sweatpants and extra large Loveburger shirt are perfect to exercise in because you can't see any of my parts moving.