Costco...you wound me so.

I love Costco.

I love 'em because they satisfy the bargain hunting, American glutton in me and because everything they sell is of a fairly high quality.

But recently, I have begun to hate Costco.

While I could grudgingly forgive them for no longer carrying any of the FOUR veggie burgers I once loved, I cannot overlook the fact that they have just eliminated my beloved (sob!) Kashi bars. Those. Bastards. I also resent them for carrying two of the most heavenly gifts from God (pumpkin cheesecake, fresh granola mix) and tempting me with so many samples everytime I go there. But now I have a whole new reason to fear them- last night I bought Roy and I some sushi and a fresh, warm rotisserie chicken for dinner. Though I managed to do good with the sushi (I just read something that referred to them as little 'sugar cubes,' but I inhaled, and I do mean inhaled over half of the chicken. Possibly because I never eat meat, I ripped at the white, juicy flesh like I was a crazed, half starved cannibal.

I don't think I've had that much pleasure since I last watched 'Midget Porn Escapades XII.'

Gym XYZ & the lesson learned

At one point last year, I had the option of working out at six (SIX!) different gyms:

• Gym #1 (through work)
• Gym #2 (through work...I had two options b/c I work in 2 diff. counties)
• Curves (I needed a local option)
• 24 Hour Fitness (a good friend has a VIP Membership that gets me in free w/ her)
• My brother's HOA gym (whenever I visited him after work)
• My own HOA gym (close by)

Now that's not manic at all.

Although in my defense...I only paid for one of them, so the others shouldn't really count. In any case, yesterday I had the sudden realization that the number of gyms I had access to had suddenly dwindled- I just lost my membership to Gym #2 (long story for another day), I gave up Curves last spring once I reached my goals there, I rarely visit my brother anymore, and I completely stopped going to my HOA gym because I considered it to be too limited.

So it panicked me because I realized I really only had one gym that I could go to each week, and it wasn't even in the city I live in or work in everyday. Within minutes I jumped online to hunt down gyms in my town and came up with three options: Curves, 24 Hour Fitness and Gym...we'll call it Gym XYZ. Curves is out, and while 24 Hour Fitness is a great gym, it's just not me. Which left Gym XYZ. FYI- Gym XYZ is a bare bones facility that cuts out all the so-called 'amenities' (locker rooms, group exercise classes, pool, babysitting) so that it can offer the absolute lowest rates. They're cramped, bustling, and just...uh, simple. Hell, they make Golds Gym or a YMCA look plush in comparison. I was a little hesitant to join for those reasons (and also because it's not even that close to my house), but given the rock bottom price and my lack of alternatives, I figured I didn't have much choice.

So a few nights ago I signed up. But as I pumped away on the elliptical and surveyed the gym, I found myself feeling frustrated and whiny- I'd had to drive 5 miles in cold, ugly weather to get there, it was extremely tiny, cramped and crowded, some of the people weren't using towels, there weren't any sign up sheets for the cardio equipment, and the heavy powerlifters were grunting and screaming very loudly in the back. It was a bit of a culture shock to say the least.

But I realized that if I was hoping to be treated like a spa princess in a calming, spacious, germ-free environment with plush, white towels being handed at the door, smiling and singing kumbaya with all the other patrons as we lined up in an orderly fashion for the cardio equipment- then my prissy behind had clearly come to the wrong place and more importantly, with the wrong intentions.

So I decided to drop the 'tude and focus on why I was really there (which was to sweat my a** off and work it baby, work it), and the positive aspects- I had a warm, reliable car to get me there. I had the money to sign up for a membership. I had the time to work out when I wanted to. And you know, by the end of the workout- I was happy, satisfied, sweaty and very, very appreciative to be there.

2 weeks down...14 to go!

Week # 2
Mon- 5 mile run
Tue- cross train
Wed- cross train
Thu- 3 mile run
Fri- rest
Sat- rest
Sun- 12 mile run
Total: 20 miles

Quick Hits Summary-

• Now that I've started running three days a week, I've noticed some minor pain in my lower shins when I run. Now I could be mistaken, but if I recall correctly, that's how shin splints start (which would make sense given the sudden increase in mileage each week). As a result, I decreased my short and medium runs this week by a mile each (compared to last week).
• After two unenjoyable days of overeating and not exercising (I was in a funk), I felt like a MILLION BUCKS today on my long run. It was just the boost I needed- I could've easily run 13-14 miles today (and really, really wanted to), but managed to pull back because I don't want to post higher mileage numbers until I'm supposed to.
• Having said that, I realize that while it's all well and good that I'm too lazy/chicken to do a 'real' marathon training program (preferring to do my own wimpier version)- that I should still have a predesignated plan. Right now, I have no idea what week I plan on doing my longest run, how long it will be, or when I will start tapering. As an anal retentive, compulsively organized individual with just a hint of OCD, this is pretty surprising. My take on why I've been hesitant to solidly commit myself to a training program thus far is because I've been so fearful of being initimidated by it and then dreading the experience. I'm ready to crank something out soon though.
• I *love* caffeine on my long runs (in my PowerBar gels). On good runs like as today, they make me feel like I run forever.
• I just realized that we leave in 3 weeks for our vacation. Some of my runs will be on a ship, some will be in the warm Miami sun, and some will be in frosty New York City (I'd love to run in Central Park). Should be interesting...I'm hoping Roy can rent a bicycle to follow me around.

The Holiday Round Up

Lord have mercy.

Thanksgiving Day was awesome. I planned on going nuts at the dinner table and gave myself carte blanche to go crazy (I worked out hard the week before in preparation). And why not? Like Christmas, it's only one day a year. There's a popular saying in the diet community that goes a little something like this, "Nothing tastes as good as being thin feels." Now normally I would have to agree with that, but not when we're talking about moist, buttery stuffing. Because in that case, well...I'm sorry, that sh** DOES taste better than being thin feels and I'm pretty much willing to fight anyone who says otherwise (and careful folks...I do know Tae Bo).

Altogether, I had two plates of food, five pieces of little chewy, chocolately nut cookies and some pecan and pumpkin pie. I think I gained two solid pounds over the course of an hour. In fact, I ate so much that I actually had a stomach pain everytime I inhaled in sharply (not there was any need for me to do this...it just became intriguing after awhile). My stomach was so distended that it actually felt as hard as a rock for about 3-4 hours afterwards! It was kind of uncomfortable (but again, ohh...sooooo worth it).

I didn't even feel bad afterwards, mostly because I'd given myself permission to eat whatever I'd wanted, but also because I firmly resolved to get right back on track the next day. Unfortunately....that second part didn't go so well. I ate too much the next day too. So I've been sulking all day today. Even though we finally went to the Festival of Trees (see pic above) that I've been begging to go to for weeks, I didn't feel so hot. It doesn't take much to make me question my self control or remind me of the fragility of my situation. I'm hoping tomorrow's long run allows me the emotional/spiritual time I need to get me back in the groove.

In other news, as is our new tradition (this is our third year!)- the Royster and I did a little Black Friday shopping. Nothing crazy like getting up at 3am and sitting on a lawn chair outside Circuit City in hopes of getting an 800-inch flat screen TV for $9.99 (free with rebate of course), but we did get up so that we could be at the door of a nearby store at 6:00 so that we could get two more MP3 players (we each have one, but they're bound to die soon and we wanted back-ups). By 6:15 we were at Home Depot a few miles away to get me a new stainless steel toaster, blender and some walkie talkies (good on vacation when your cell phone is out of range), but by 6:45 we were done.

I did go to JoAnn's later in the day for what ended up being an out of control Christmas decor shopping frenzy- the sale was just so good I couldn't resist. And we also grabbed some Bluetooth units and a wireless router the day before. But everything went very smoothly- there was no chaos, fights or trampling of the elderly.

Hope your holidays were equally happy, but slightly less caloric! ;-)

Happy Thanksgiving!

I love So Cal- it's been in the 80s everyday this week. To celebrate our 10th Thanksgiving together, Roy and I will continue to observe a special little tradition I like to call "Don't make Josie cook for Thanksgiving" (remember, it took SEVEN years of marriage before I bought a single Christmas decoration). So we'll be heading north in a few hours to spend the day with family. I've been assigned dinner rolls and wine. Yippie! Dodged another one!

Don't get me wrong, I love, love, love Thanksgiving (because any day in which there is both mashed potatoes AND stuffing in front of me is a very, very blessed day indeed), I'm just intimidated by the thought of handling that big, cold dead bird covered in white, goose-pimply flesh. And don't even get me started on the innards that get stuffed in a bag up their a**.

I suppose I should be thankful for the fact that as of last night, Roy has finally finished our vacation plans for the holidays (I've been sulking about it all week long). My original plan was to visit Kenya & Tanzania, but airfare was up to over $2,600 per person, and as of a few weeks ago, no one else had signed up for the 2 week safari we'd wanted to go on (which meant it would be cancelled).

So when that fell through, thankfully- I had a multiple back up plans- either Greece & Turkey, Vietnam & Cambodia, or Chile & Argentina. So would you like to know where we're going? The Caribbean. Why? Because much to my dismay- international airfares were sky high this year. While I'm kind of excited about it, part of me thinks its too much like Hawaii, and basically domestic. So in a noble attempt to soothe my spoiled nerves- Roy has extended our weeklong trip to the islands by also giving us another week and a half on the East Coast- with Christmas in Miami and New Years in New York City (I plan on getting drunk and flashing old people in Times Square).

Have a good one folks, I'm off to score me some pumpkin pie!

1 week down...15 to go!

Week # 1
Mon- cross train
Tue- 6 mile run
Wed- cross train
Thu-4 mile run
Fri- cross train
Sat-11 mile run
Sun- rest
Total: 21 miles

Quick Hits Summary-

• The first run of the week (6 miles) my body was in complete shock- I was not only running on a day I normally wouldn't, but I was also running in the evening. My body protested by making my stomach hurt and my legs feel as though they were 50 pounds each. I ran atrociously slow and wanted to quit after mile 2. It took all that I had just to keep from quitting.
• I ran three times this week. That's definitely a first. It wasn't fun*, but overall- it wasn't as bad/hard as I thought it was going to be either. I'm hoping it grows on me.
• Because I'm lazy, my goal will be to run 3 days a week (as opposed to the recommended 4 days a week).
• The medium run will always be first, with the short run next so that my legs can rest before the long run over the weekend.
• I just discovered a beautiful new 2-mile equestrian trail two miles from my house at the base of a nearby mountain. If I run to the trail (2 miles), run down the trail and back (4 miles), and then run back home (2 miles), it will make an excellent medium run. It's quiet, scenic, hilly and easy on the knees. I love it, but Roy hates it (as it's harder to bike).
• Whenever I finish a long run, I eat like a pig for the rest of the day.
• I'm not planning on increasing my long run mileage very much over the next month. I don't want to hit the apex too quickly and run the risk of overtraining, getting injured or burning out.
• I've been waffling over how long my longest training run should be (18 or 20 miles). I think I've settled on 20 since I've already done 15 (and 3 more doesn't seem as climactic). We'll see if Ms. Big Shot ever actually does it.
• Because today's long run included some hills that tired me out, I trudged back home so slooowly that I must have looked ridiculous. I have to keep reminding myself that this is not about time and to just have fun!

*Eating popcorn is fun. So is eating tortilla chips.

A Plea for the Petite

For those of you who don't personally know me, I'm a little on the short, runty side. This makes buying clothes difficult because the sleeves/pant legs are usually too long. As a cheap person, this causes me great pain. Because everytime I want to buy something- I have to factor in the added cost of having my tailor shorten it to fit my short, stumpy limbs.

So anyway, you would think I could avoid this whole issue by just shopping in the Petite section. But before I get into that, allow me to clarify exactly what 'petite' means in the garment industry. I am doing this only because last month, I found out the hard way that not everybody knows what that means. I was telling a female coworker how difficult it is to find petite clothing when she scrunched up her nose, cocked her head to the side, and said, "You're NOT petite. I mean, you've lost a lot of weight, but I wouldn't call you petite." After taking several long, deep breaths and stuffing her battered, bloody body into my car trunk, I calmly explained that the word 'petite' in the fashion industry simply refers to clothing created for women 5'4 and below).

So now that we've cleared that up, here's why I tend to avoid the Petite section. It is my belief that most petite women are either A) really, really old or B) Asian, with therefore, very little sense of style (since all we care about is that our blouse be able to accommodate a pocket protector and not scratch up our violin). As a result, I have noticed that most petite clothes items are either:

• Pale yellow, green, pink or sky blue
• Made of poly-cotton
• Contain an elastic waist band
• Prominently sport the American flag or a piece of fruit all over it
• Are always part of a two piece set (the other piece always being a matching sweater)
• Have some type of bead, ribbon or shiny object attached to it
• Are really, really f**king ugly

Being the high end fashionista that I am, this frustrates me. So here is my desperate plea to the fashion world- since there are Big & Tall stores, why not add Short & Stumpy stores? Because if there were- I would totally shuck off this pink, polyester blouse with the large sequined apples all over it and get something much, much cooler!

Could it be?

About 3-4 weeks ago I was somehow able to pull myself out of the painful existence I had been living in the last 4-6 months of my life. During much of that time, I had been extremely frustrated and miserable, mostly from dealing with a deep and constant hunger that would inevitably result in gross overeating and weight gain. It was horrible. Horrible. I blamed all of all unhappiness on the hunger/weight gain, and hoped and prayed I would someday move past it.

I spent all my time and energy on trying to 'heal myself' by finding ways to control that hunger- drinking more water, eating more fruit and fiber, having smaller, more frequent meals, distracting myself with other tasks...you know, all of the tricks of the trade. But it wasn't working. I still felt hungry all the time, I still wasn't losing any weight no matter how hard I tried. I was baffled and irritable. I couldn't believe or accept that I had to accept defeat- giving in was for the weak and the lazy! I felt helpless, defeated and very, very angry. Every day of continued failure seemed to taunt me, and I became highly sensitive and envious of those who didn't have my eating issues. No one could relate to me or my pain other than those who were just like me. Everyone else could just go to hell.

Thankfuly, after talking to a few people, I managed to realize that even if I somehow got to my goal weight (of 5-7 more pounds), the only thing it would do would torture me to maintain it. And more than likely, it would still not be enough. I would still not be content because my thighs would still be rubbing together, and I'd still have that stomach overhang and man calves. So why the hell was I continuing to torture myself?! I was so damned miserable, but soooo hell bent and determined not to be a quitter that I was setting myself up for nothing but a world of pain.

So once again, I pulled back. I stashed the scale. I spent a few weeks starting to accept myself at my current size. I convinced myself that I was not a failure for giving up on the final five pounds. I started to allow myself to eat a few treats here and there without guilt. After keeping it in for months, I found the courge to start opening up to others more about how bad my thoughts/life had become. I started to focus on living in the present, at my current size, and feeling good about it. And most of all, I started to focus on the many wonderful, amazing aspects of my life- my job, the upcoming holidays, my home, my thoughts, my renewed relationship with God, my appreciation for the beauty of the outdoors, the kindess of others, my health, and of course- my husband and my family and friends.

And you know, despite going through one of the most stressful work weeks I've ever endured, I think everything is finally starting coming together. I mean, I still get very hungry most days, but it's not that deep, painful unending hunger anymore. And instead of overeating 2-3 times each week, I've only had one bad episode so far. Lately I've been driving to work every morning feeling more at peace than I have in years. I think it's happenning- the cloud is finally starting to lift. I've been hesitant to write about this, mostly out of a fear that the relief would only be temporary, and then I would have to shamefully later admit that I had fallen back off the wagon. It's that same fear I once had about regaining the weight. But just as that latter fear of regaining the weight has gradually been replaced by a newfound confidence, so too has the fear of falling back into the deep, dark hole I just climbed out of.

For a long time I've read about how hunger/eating is not about the hunger/food, and that it's really about your acceptance of yourself, and that hunger/food are just how that pain manifests itself in you. I had a hard time accepting that because I thought I did love myself. I thought my life WAS great. I was quite proud of all the things I had or had done. But when I was recently asked to make out a list of all of the things that I liked about myself, a shocking conclusion came to light- they were all accomplishments (good job, quick learner, excellent with finance and investment, organized, world traveller, runner, weight loss succes, healthy, nice home and cars, etc). I did not list a single characteristic- kind, warm, funny, giving, empathetic, etc. And not because I didn't think those traits were unimportant or undesirable, but because I didn't feel I exemplified any of those traits. Which of course, made me feel unhappy, unworthy, and unwhole. So anytime I felt stressed, bored, unhappy, irritable or afraid- I soothed myself in the only way I knew how- with food (so all I can say is, thank God I didn't have any meth laying around).

So I'm getting there, folks. I still have a way to go, but instead of feeling like I'm crawling there, I now feel like I'm striding.

Scary!

I am scared of two things right now.

The first, quite obviously, is my face in this photo. Because the fine folks at www.photocrazy.com were kind enough to give all of the Santa Barbara runners one free digital photo, last night Roy and I selected this one to download. Believe it or not, of the 5-6 options available- this was by far the best. If you can imagine- my face looked even more sweaty and terrifying in all the other photos. And don't think I haven't noticed that it looks like I'm missing part of my leg (again). Clearly I'm developing a talent for this.

The second thing that is scaring the living bejesus out of me is that tomorrow marks the first day of what I hope will be my official 16-week marathon training program. While part of me is really excited to finally test myself and get this party started, the other side of me is dreading the hard work and terrified of failing.

Otherwise, all is well on the western front. Work has been a beast, but I finally see some light at the end of the tunnel. Roy is in hardcore crunch mode, but in exactly one month- he should be proudly walking the line and graduating. The holidays are just around the corner- which means I'm looking forward to all of the get-togethers with friends and family, and have also started decorating the house and buying presents (which I love). I've also resumed the talks with God again (they lasted about 2 weeks the last time), and have found great comfort and peace in doing so. Aside from one bad night, I've had one of the best 2 weeks I've had in 3-4 months. So in that sense, I guess I couldn't be in a better place.

LA...here I come.

Definitely Blogworthy

Sorry for the lack of posts recently, I've actually been kind of busy. Plus, whenever something "blogworthy" (taken from the Seinfeld episode where Elaine decides which men are 'spongeworthy' once her favorite sponge is discontinued) seems to happen, I inevitably forget about it three minutes later (one of the many disadvatanges of having the brain of a 4-year old).

On that note, last night I visited the house of a friend and used her bathroom to take a shower. I hadn't planned on using the toilet, but because I couldn't help but notice that there was some hair floating in it (from her head, people...her HEAD) I was paranoid that she would see it later and think it was mine. (I believe Heloise/Irma/Ann Landers have all addressed this very issue at some point, and I'm pretty sure that leaving any type of body hair/fluid in your host's toilet is a definite no-no).

So to make a long, manic, anal retentive story short, I decided to try and flush it away. So I hit flush. Five seconds later I noticed one strand stubbornly clinging to the side of the bowl. So I hit flush again. And again. At this point, I was fully aware of how utterly stupid the situation was. I also realized that the 2 other guests in the living room were probably wondering what in hell I'd ate for lunch that day- but now I was stuck. I wasn't going to reach in there and MOVE the damn thing, but I sure as hell wasn't going to let that f**ing strand of hair get the best of me either. Thankfully it eventually went down, proving once again that A) I am slightly crazy; and B) I am an absolutely delightful houseguest.

My final blogworthy note today comes to us courtesy of the fine makers of the mini pad. Yes guys, THAT kind of mini pad. You see, back in September when I was in Chicago, one my best friend's reminded me of the time I saved the day back in '97. It was my first day in Japan, and a small group of us were trying to move into the apartment we were renting. The previous tenants had told me they would tape the key into the side of the mail box (the kind attached to the front of the door with a little slot to slide the mail into).

The problem was that the brainiacs had used scotch tape, so the key had fallen down to the bottom of the mail slot. The only way to get it would have been to ask a young child to stick his/her arm in the narrow slot and pull it out. Fortunately, we DID have a young child with us (they're very useful to have around if you need caocao leaves picked, a rug weaved, or Nike shoes made). The child was the 5 or 6 year old nephew of my friend's cousin. Unfortunately, the child flatly refused to stick his arm in there. He thought it was highly amusing but did not want to help. Both my best friend and his father tried alternately begging and plying him with candy while he kept giggling and refusing. Though I'm not so fond of it myself, I wanted to recommend my father's foolproof method of compliance, but I didn't think they'd be too fond of me bodyslamming, headlocking or bloodying up their child (did you know that's considered child abuse now?! And if you did- WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU WHEN I WAS FIVE?!!!).

Anyway, moving right along... We were getting more and more frustrated, that is, until I spotted a stick nearby. And I remembered that I had a mini pad in my purse. And then the lightbulb went on. I quickly wrapped the pad around the stick inside out and was able to fish the key out in seconds. I was quickly heralded as the female MacGyver and I smugly accepted their accolades.

Cut to 2006. November. I was driving home from work on Monday with the top down (which I almost never do, 'cause you know, gotta keep those ricebowl bangs in place...but I was very sweaty and gross from a spinning workout, so I needed the wind) when I heard a repetitive clacking sound. I pulled over to investigate, but because it was getting dark I couldn't see anything stuck in the tires, which all appeared to be full. So I hopped back in and drove off, but the noise immediately resumed. I cursed, pulled back over, and managed to find a flashlight in the trunk's emergency kit. Because it was now quite dark, I had to crawl around on all fours with the flashlight in my mouth so I could peer underneath the car. I wanted to try and locate the source of whatever was making that noise. Why?! I have no idea. I mean, what was I gonna do when I found it? FIX it?! I still can't even load songs onto my MP3 player! Come on.

Nonetheless, I was able to locate a short wire that was hanging onto the ground, and figured I'd better reattach it so it the little fuse at the end wouldn't erode away. Unfortunately, because the car is about 2 inches off the ground, I couldn't get my head underneath far enough to see where it would go. So I had a choice- I could either drive back home with it hanging down and face Roy's looks of disbelief and pity, or reattach it to the car somehow. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any electrical tape in the car, nor was a band aid strong enough to hold it up. But *you and I* both know what was, right? Thaaat's right...ding! ding! ding! The good 'ol mini pad!!! So to once again make a long story short, guess who drove home with a mini pad affixed to the front end of her car, holding up a wire?!! ;-) God, I love being me sometimes!!!

So do yourselves a favor peeps- stock up on the Kotex minis. Guys, I'm not gonna josh you, you may get some stares when they accidentally fall out of your Palm pilots at work, but I'm sure those looks of disbelief will quickly turn into looks of awe when they see how you're able to upgrade the network server at work with it, or rehang that entryway chandelier. Just be sure and thank me later.

Why I Race

It's fairly obvious I don't run races competitively, but I love them just the same. Today I wanted to try and capture the reasons why just in case I ever lose this fire in the belly and need to be reminded:

I love being motivated by all the lithe, muscular bodies around me.

I love being motivated by all the older, larger bodies around me.

I love seeing all the nervous first time racers around me, just starting to explore the world of running, and feeling so excited for them.

I love standing at the starting line, feeling the excitement generated by hundreds of other chattering runners, all of trying to stay warm, straining to hear the gun go off.

I love chatting with the other runners around me, happily sharing with each other what we know about the course, our past races, missed training runs, our hopeful time that day, etc.

I love stretching in the sea of other runners, staring at the thousands of pairs of well worn shoes and toned leg muscles in front of me.

I appreciate all of the encouraging smiles of the volunteers as they cheer you on and hand you a cup of water.

I love seeing that first runner coming around the bend, with that look of pain, intense concentration and determination in their eyes.

I love it when my nervousness finally subsides and I start to feel like I'm in a groove, my arms and legs moving in sync, my breathing barely affected.

I love feeling the cool breeze blowing on my damp body, listening to a great song my MP3 player, and just feeling so damn happy that I'm finally living my life the way I dreamed it should be.

I love pacing myself with others in front of me, staring at their strong bodies and being motivated by their stronger pace, wondering how/why they're out there.

I love charging through those last hundred yards to the finish line, feeling like I've done something truly special and amazing (even though 754 others finished ahead of me).

I love seeing Roy at the finish with pride in his eyes, him high fiving me across the ropes yelling "Great run, Josie! Great time!"

I love standing in the food line for my banana and muffins with all the other runners after the race, all of us tired, sweaty and quiet...but smiling and victorious.

I love stretching and mingling around after the race, feeling like I'm part of a team/group all dedicated to one common goal- being healthy.

I love it when after the race I realize that I've run thirteen miles that morning, and I'm not tired.

I love seeing the wonder in other people's eyes when I tell them what I did that day.

But best of all, I love what running/racing has given me a something to be proud of.

Three half marathons down...three to go!

Santa Barbara...I love you.

I had a great race this weekend. I ran it in 2:06:13, and placed 755 out of 1446. This means I not only ran my first sub 10-min. mile pace, but that I've also worked my way up from being a back-of-the-packer to a middle-of-the-packer! :-)

The recap-

Because I always have lots of anxiety the night before a race, I took my first (of three) Benadryl around 7:30pm. After tossing, turning and whining for three hours, I finally woke Roy up and got him to play with my hair for 15-20 minutes so that I could fall asleep (around 10:45). We woke up around 5:15am to get ready and once we got there, were able to park about 200 yards away from the starting line (beautiful...I hate having to do things like go to a race two hours early to catch a shuttle).

The weather was perfect, the race course was scenic, and compared to the last race I did in San Diego (America's Finest City Half Marathon)- not nearly as difficult. Mild hills over the first half of the course with a nearly flat second half. The first 2-3 miles my heart was pounding in nervousness/anticipation, but once it settled down I found that I felt pretty good in terms of breathing and physical exertion. Only one element tortured me. Because the race started an hour later than most other races, I drank an extra 8 oz. of water. This wouldn't have been so bad, except that there were far too little porta-potties, which also meant one less trip to the bathroom than I would have liked. These two factors meant that I ran the entire race feeling like I had to pee. Naturally this miserable and uncomfortable feeling only escalated throughout the race, which ended up occupying most of my thoughts. Between miles 8-13 it became almost unbearable. Let's just say that...no. You know what? For your sake, I won't even go there. But I will say that with God as my witness, I will either pee in the bushes or collapse of drhydration before I ever repeat that mortifying experience again.

Aside from the bladder problem, I felt pretty good overall. That's not to say the last 2-3 miles weren't physically and mentally exhausting, however. Whenever I hit miles 10, 11, and 12, I tend to feel very tired, fussy, miserable and extremely negative. I start to swear that I will never run another half marathon. I start envisioning how humiliating it will be to have to tell everyone that I don't want to run a marathon anymore. And at that point in time, I truly believe all of this. The minute I finish, however, I almost immediately catch that second wind. Suddenly I'm hyper, want to rush over to the food tent for a banana and Clif bar, want to cruise the sponsor tents for samples/new products, pose for pictures and call everyone I know. Then once I'm in the car on the way home- all I want to do is chatter about how I wish I could afford to do races more often.

Yesterday was a particularly special race because it marked the halfway point to my first goal of wanting to run 6 half marathons in six months, and because I was also able to get a little closer to my second goal of being able to run one of those races with a sub 2-hour time. I'd had a feeling I would break the 2:10 mark, but I was honestly quite surprised/euphoric when I saw that the clock said 2:04 (I have no idea why my official race time said 2:06 since both and Roy I saw 2:04, but it's okay- we'll roll with the official time). I still have a lot of work to do though, because even though I've managed to steadily improve my times (see below), six minutes is still A LOT of time to shave off.

Half Marathon Race History:

1/29/06 - 3:06:07 (Highland - I pretty much walked the whole thing)
4/30/06 - 2:26:10 (Redlands - I had conditioned more and planned to run half)
8/20/06 - 2:14:49 (San Diego - I planned to run 100%, but nearly died on the last 2-3 uphill miles)
9/24/06 - 2:17:00 (Hometown- Not running in an actual race is always slower)
10/14/06 - 2:17:00 (Hometown - Ditto)
11/3/06 - 2:06:13 (Santa Barbara - Best race ever, but mild course)

I know that if I even plan on maintaining this pace that I have to start increasing the number of days I run each week to at least 2, ideally 3. I also had a wonderful epiphany yesterday. It came around the middle of the race when I started to get a little embarassed by the number of people that had been steadily passing me over the last 7 miles. I realized that they weren't passing me because they were younger, thinner, stronger, more athletically gifted or had more time to train. They were passing me simply because they WORKED HARDER (gulp). My gawd. I really have become my father.

So c'mon J-dawg. Pull yourself together. Dig deeper. Drag your a** out there and run.

Wasted time...

So after TWO MONTHS of absolutely no downward movement on the scale, I have finally lost...drumroll please... half a pound!!! Because I've spent the last week or two trying to accept my current weight/size though, I almost don't care*.

*This is complete and utter horses**t of course...but I'm trying not to care).

Either way, I've come to realize that I've pretty much wasted the last 3-4 months of my life stuck in this self imposed misery. It's still too fresh for me to be able to define how or why I entered into it, but now that I'm in a place where I can look at it more objectively, I can see how absolutely dangerous and self destructive it was, and how swiftly it can creep up on you. I pride myself on being fairly self aware, but I certainly never saw this crap coming. The best way I can summarize how things came to this point would be something like this:

Months 1-2: Wow, I'm losing weight! Is this for real?!
Months 3-4: Holy sh**! It's not a fluke, I'm really losing weight!!!
Months: 5-12: Wow! I think I've finally figured this weight loss thing out!!! I'm going to be...a SUPERMODEL!!!!!
Month 13: Man, if I could just lose ten more pounds, I'd be so happy!
Month 14: Boy, these last ten aren't easy to lose...
Month 15: Damnit, what the hell is taking so long?!
Month 16: Look at this gut, is it ever gonna disappear? Come on, already!!!
Month 17: Oh what the hell, it doesn't matter what I do, I'm just gonna have these chips then.
Month 18: Well big surprise, now I've gained 2 pounds! Great job, tubby!
Month 19: Okay now I'm really getting pisssed! I guess I'd better cut my calories again.
Month 20: I'm so damned hungry all the time. And I'm still not losing weight! What the hell?
Month 21: Still no loss... WTF is wrong with me? I hate everyone. I hate me. Everyone can just piss off. I hope we bomb those fu**ing North Koreans. And Canada too. Godd**n pu**ies.

I often question how and why this whole "thing" happenned, but I think it would be a lot easier for me to just accept it as just part of "the process." I mean, it's not like I woke up one day and decided I wanted to be miserable. I just found myself gradually becoming more and more frustrated/depressed when I couldn't lose those last 10 pounds.

Only one day (far too late into the process of course), I finally realized that I was basing my happiness on a hopeless situation- if I gained weight, I was miserable. If I lost weight, I tortured myself to maintain it. Without intending to do so, I had set myself up for a world of heartache and never ending pressure.

The last 2-3 months have definitely been the ugliest stage of my weight loss experience thus far, and I'm so glad to be moving on. Though I'm still in the middle of clawing my way out of this mess, I still can't believe I just spent what should have been the most celebratory months of my life feeling so miserable. Never again. I won't deny that I'm still nervous and scared about everything, but for now, I'm firmly focused on what's ahead. I have a big race this weekend and I'm so damn excited I can hardly stand it.