Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Biking and Jared and Pull Ups, Oh My!

My hips and legs are still sore from my 22:02 virtual 5k. My right quad spent most of Monday twitching.

I had 45 minutes schedule on the bike last night, so I used it to warm up my hips and loosen up my muscles. Nice, slow, steady pace.

I did manage to break a sweat, just so no one thinks I was slacking too hard (not that anyone really cares).

I watched Property Virgins the whole time. Man I'm glad I don't have to go through buying a house again for another ten years or so. That shit's exhausting.

After the bike ride I pretended to stretch.

This one actually felt good, but man, I don't have the patience for stretching.

And then, for no reason other than "why the fuck not"ery, I decided to do a from-hanging-position (aka REAL) pull up.

And. Um. I did it. So, immediately posted on twitter. Because I tried to brag to the dog but he didn't give a shit. And this is my first one, so it's kind of a big deal (just, you know, sad that with all the working out I do, it took me this long to do it). And then I did another one. To make sure it wasn't a fluke. And then I tried to do two in a row without putting my feet down. And succeeded. And then I did two more, just so I could get a shitty picture.



Oh, yesterday I had lunch with this guy.

To prove my social skills, this happened:

Me: Is this the first time you've had two ladies in your pants?
Jared: No, but it's been a while.

Some other bloggers were there. L-R it's N Her Shoes, Skinny Runner, me, Jared Fogle, Run Eat Repeat, and I'm a shitty blogger, so I don't know the couple's blog name.

I made Jared hold up a fan sign.

And then he obliged my request for a butt picture. Which proves he really is a nice guy.


He can't order a sandwich without saying "um" either (I don't think anyone can).
If they named a sub The Jared he would choose the Sweet Onion Chicken Teriyaki.
He did get sick of subs. He eats them a few times a week now, when he travels. He travels over 200 days a year. Nuts.
He has a four month old son, who hasn't had any Subway yet.
He carries his fat pants around in a Coach brand travel bag thing. He says the Smithsonian has expressed interest in them.
He's pretty sure Billy Blanks could beat him up.
He has a personal trainer. And agrees that personal trainers are awesome.
He says the best part about running a marathon is being done and never having to run one again.
In the UK they put pineapple on their sandwiches. Freaks.
Jared is super nice. Doing PR for Subway for 13 years and getting recognized by two presidents hasn't gone to his head.

Yup, that's all I got.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

Does A Virtual Race Count As A PR?


Not to me, at least.

Most races are measured pretty carefully. A race that's just me, the road, and some satellite feedback? Yeah, I'm not banking my pride on my garmin being accurate. My true PRs only count on a race day.

Which is too bad, since today I ran the Virtual Freeze Your Thorns Off 5k.

(I didn't print out a bib because either I'm a hippie who is trying to save the trees, man, or I'm lazy)


My current PR, from four years ago, is 23:55.

I guess I need to sign up for a real 5k now, eh?

The stats:

The heart rate info is slaying me. That's (according to Garmin) 117% of my max. So I must be really dead.

Yes. I was pushing myself.

Mental stats:

Mile 1
: Oh, this is a seven minute mile? This isn't so bad. As long as I keep my breathing under control, I should be able to maintain this. Huh, I can actually feel this in my legs. That's new. I wonder if that's from biking yesterday. Usually my lungs give out first. As long as I keep my breathing focused I'll be fine.

Mile 2: I don't feel my legs anymore, because the breathing is getting hard. It feels like I'm going slower. Oh, shit, I am going slower. Am I capable of going faster? Push it, push it. Man, this is tough. How far do I have left to go? Oh shit. Will I be able to keep this up for another mile?

Mile 3: Can I blame my speed on the wind? Fuck, the wind isn't hard enough. This is me being slow. Move faster legs. Shit, I need to breathe. Focus on your breathing. In, in, out, out. Oh fuck I need air GASP GASP WHEEZE GASP GASP AIR SWEET JESUS AIR no, shit, no, get your breathing under control you can DO this. In, in, out, out Fuck I just want to stop and walk what if I stop now what if I pause my Garmin and take a break how the fuck do I still have half a mile left, in, in, out, out, anyone can run half a mile, the faster you finish the sooner you're done suck it up mother fucker why am I so slow am I go to pass out? Push push push push.

Mile 3-3.1: Point zero one, point zero two why is this going so slow jesus fuck point zero three am I go to die if I go faster? point zero four kdfghdfklhgdflkhgdlfh point zero five stop looking at your watch run run run run so close run run run point zero seven what the fuck why aren't I don't yet point zero eight RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN point one STOP YES FUCK GASP WHEEZE HEADRUSH DONE

So, that is why my average heart rate was 198. That's how I hit 209bpm.

I still have almost a half mile to go before I was back to my car. I spent the whole walk muttering things like "fuck, shit, fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, uggggggg." And then I sat in my car and tried to calm down.

Already I was upset about my third mile. Did I go out too fast? Maybe I should have had breakfast. Maybe I should have taken a day off after kicking my own ass on the bike yesterday. But, these are excuses. And what I am excusing? I pushed myself HARD. I'm not sure I could have gone much faster. But I could have gone a little bit faster. If I'd kept my breathing under control I could have gone faster.

I need to cut myself some slack. Because this is a good time. And I am proud of it. This is the first time I've tried to run a hard 5k, honestly, probably since my PR 4 years ago. My 5ks in between have all been cheerleading other people or just dicking around.

Pushing myself is hard. I didn't do it for a long time. Because it was easier to keep doing what I was doing.

So, this is a new world to me. I have a lot to learn.

My legs are tired. My hips twinge a little bit when I use them. But I feel awesome.

I'm trying to eat "clean" this week (basically, whole foods. Vegetables, fruits, and meat). I want to keep it totally clean for another week. Mostly just to see how lean I can get. For science. And then I'll find some happy medium between eating well and eating like shit. Balance is good.

For example, tonight my husband wanted the equivalent of a middle eastern burrito (shwarma in laffa). I wanted grilled chicken and fruit. So, we went to the laffa joint, and I ducked in next door to the grocery about bought chicken, lettuce, mango, strawberries, cherry tomatoes, and cherries. I grilled up the chicken with some squash, roasted the tomatoes in the oven with olive oil and salt and made lettuce chicken wraps with salsa. Delicious. I'm about to go eat my weight in strawberries and mangoes now in hopes of upping my vitamin C, because my throat is starting to feel scratchy.

The End

Friday, January 27, 2012

Not So Easy Rider

30 minutes on the trainer with 5x 2min sprint 2min recovery.

This is clearly my dog, since he's showing his ass to the camera.

The first two minute sprint I started out HARD. As in, hit 27mph (And nearly shat myself). That was sustainable for...um...a second or two? Yeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaah. But it was still neat. I settled in to a stead 23mph or so during the sprints. Sometimes it was lower. Because damn, that shit is hard. Quads were aflamed.

But the headband kept the sweat from dripping in my eyes.

The best butt short you're going to get.

By the end I was exhausted. EXHAUSTED. My legs were jelly. My heart rate hit 190 a few times. It was a good workout. I almost put it off until Saturday, but decided it was only 30 minutes, and it would be easier to just knock it out. Glad I did.

Because I can:

Yay weekend. I have a run and a clothing exchange. Good times.

Thursday, January 26, 2012


I think my arms are going to fall off.


On camera (for an audition video I'm doing for a potential show I'm auditioning for, that I'm probably not supposed to talk about)

5 sets of 20 kb swings
5 135lb deadlifts
1 per side 40lb turkish get ups
7 dumbbell presses (90lbs today)

Here is the chest press video. It was tough. It's the heaviest weight I can press, I think (I'm not good at remembering this stuff). I just wanted it to look impressive, you know?


Turkish get up. I need to work on my form for the heavier weight. And, um, not failing on my left side. Don't worry, as soon as the camera was off I knocked out a left rep.

Normal shit:

0.25 mile run (7mph)
2 per side turkish gets ups
10 db presses (70lbs total)
10 box jumps (medium height)


Breaking in my disco suit.

100m easy
100m hard (1:56)
10 minutes easy
100m hard (1:57)

And then I drove home and my arms fell off.

Oh, I've been waiting to write this since I bought this suit. Apropos of nothing, bite my shiny metal ass.

And, I'm physically exhausted, but I'm not mentally burnt like I was for the last few weeks. I feel awesome. I feel vibrant. I love what I'm doing. I feel good. My arms could sleep for days, and my legs need a vacation that involves floating in a pool and sleeping for 12 hours at a time, but I feel, mentally, awesome. And, even tired I feel pretty physically rad.

I've been eating well this week. I'm sure that helps. A steady stream of total shit in my diet apparently wasn't good for my mental health. Who knew? Oh, everyone. Yeah. I'm sure I'll find some middle ground before training is done.

But until then, my arms are totally going to fall off.

Just What I Needed

15 min run, easy.

That's what my training schedule said for last night. I had been looking at it for a few days. 15 minutes hardly seemed worth the shower I would have to take anyway. I'm pretty awesome, I thought to myself. Fifteen minutes isn't worth my time. I should do more.

So, I pestered my tri coach. And got permission. As long as I got out there and shook my legs out.

I had big plans. For no reason. Just, big plans.

And then Tuesday's training session happen. And wiped me out.

I spent all of yesterday physically exhausted.

15 minutes of easy running sounded perfect.

Things tend to work out like that. Most other Tuesday wouldn't have killed me nearly as hard. And most of my Wednesdays haven't been this easy. If I didn't know better, I'd wonder if there was some collusion going on between my trainer and my coach. Which would be terrifying.

I made the dog run with me, because he needed to be walked anyway.

The run was just what I needed. It was hard, but that good kind of hard, a deep stretch. Harder than 15 minutes had any right to be, that's for sure. I could feel my legs. It wasn't pain. It was just...there.

This is how I talk to my trainer, too. Things like "I'm more aware of my elbows during this exercise." What does that even MEAN? I don't know. I do my best to describe things with the words I have. I don't always know what I'm feeling.

Last night's run was. I don't know. It felt like amateur hour on my legs. An easy 10 minute mile was rough. Not impossible rough. Not just ran a marathon yesterday rough. More like when was the last time I felt THAT muscle when I ran? rough.

It was just what I needed. Even if it wasn't the impressive run I was hoping for.

Oh, here is a picture of the cat, so she doesn't get left out.


Last night's crock pot meal was herbed lemon garlic chicken. It was fine, but not so impressive that I need to pimp the recipe. It could be done better.

I took a picture anyway, because look at how fucking big that sweet potato is.

The best thing about training is that I ate all of it, no problem. The worst part about training is I go from zero to FUCKING STARVING at random points during the day. Sometimes my stomach will be full, but my body will start DEMANDING FOOD NOW. There's not much I can do about that, since I'm probably not going to start chugging olive oil. But I should probably start making sure I include enough fat in every meal. I think I'm doing okay, but it won't hurt to keep an eye on it.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

PB =/= Peanut Butter

In case your forgot how stupid I look all the time:

It dawned on me Monday that I really, really look forward to my personal trainer sessions, as a "break" from my tri training.

It made me worry a little bit. I almost, almost emailed my trainer and told him we needed to work harder if I was thinking of his sessions as rest days.

But, I didn't. He read my mind anyway. He has a way of doing that.

I walked into last night's session brain tired. I walked out more physically exhausted than I've been in a long, long time. And I hardly broke a sweat.


I fucking love deadlifts.


They're hard. And they're awesome. And they're REAL. People do this shit to prove how strong they are. I feel like I'm doing real weight lifting stuff when I deadlift.

So, I rolled in to the session last night.

Me: I'm tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiired
Him: You're always tired.
Me: I know.
Him: How tired are you?
Me: I'll be fine once we start working out.
Him: Good. Because we're doing deadlifts.


And we did.

And it was awesome.

And I hit a new personal best. 170lbs.

It was hard. And it wasn't pretty. But my form was spot on, and that's what makes it count.

That took up a good chunk of the session. Working up to it. Making sure I didn't psych myself out.

And then we took a break to try to do hand stands and hand stand push ups. I cannot throw my legs up and get myself in a hand stand position on my own. It would be funny if it weren't kind of sad. Something to work on. When my arms and legs don't ache anymore.

We ended with:

20 reverse lunges with dumbbell curls
15 push ups
5 (per side) bells up strict presses (holy shit hard!)

planks (55sec, 60sec)

I had to use chalk during the strict presses. And then I groped my own ass.


I came home to this pile of amazingness waiting for me in the crockpot (with peanut butter and soy sauce because I am a modern woman, not a paleolithic man). I piled it on some lettuce, added bell pepper, apple, cilantro, carrot, and lime juice, and ate the shit out of it. This pork would work on anything. In a sandwich, just a mountain of meat on a plate, however you want to eat it. Shit, the sauce it was cooked in would work for anything. YUM.

I'm trying to use the crock pot every night this week. For fun. Monday's crock pot dinner was fine, but wasn't worth repeating or linking to recipes or anything. But this? Gold. Delicious, meaty gold. And I'm sure it will be delicious for lunch today, too.


I am loving this season of The Bachelor. Courtney is amazing in her manipulations. I love her. I still see women who I'm like "who the fuck is this?" Clearly I'm paying close attention. Why do they always show the fun, silly clips only at the end? Those tend to really show the personality and, dare I say it, connections. Make the whole show like that!

On the flip side, The Biggest Loser, while also filled with drama, is a total snooze fest. I also don't recognize most of these people, except with nicknames like "pepperoni nipples" and "crazy bitch" and "santa." Why am I still watching this show? Oh, the olympic weight lifter girl. I have a minor crush on her.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Garmin? Try Gar-MOAN

I'm not the smartest person.

I want to make that clear.

BUT. My Garmin's default for intervals was 01:00:00. It seemed reasonable to assume that, for intervals, it made more sense to read this as one minute instead of one hour.


I was scheduled to run 20 minutes today, with three intervals of 1 min ALL OUT, 2 minutes jog.

And...I thought I had set that on my Garmin. Because instead of tracking down the manual and looking it up, I just made assumptions.

Assumptions that led me to narrowly avoid running in to telephone poles as I sprinted down a shockingly narrow sidewalk and squinted at my watch. So, my ALL OUT wasn't exactly an ALL OUT.

But, I got going pretty fast.

(this is zoomed in to just the intervals so it's easier to see my wicked awesome pace, yo)

I need to find a track. Or, at the very least, a place where I can sprint without worrying about cracks in the sidewalk or running in to vehicles or muddy puddles or that one fucking mailbox in my neighborhood that sticks out onto the sidewalk at exactly fucking FACE LEVEL in a dark stretch of road. Holy shit you guys. Every time I run in my neighborhood I miss running face first into a mailbox by, at best inches. Once, it was fucking open and I could feel is breeze past me as I ducked out of the way at the last minute. Yes, my fault for forgetting it exists every time. But still.

Yeah, there are parks, but with those come people, and people dodging can get treacherous. I need to find a track. Because this sprinting thing? I think if I can turn off my brain and not worry about hazards, I think I could go pretty fast.

Regardless, I got my HR up to 198. I could have pushed harder, but I was paranoid. Oh, and the first sprint started right as a bus was pulling away. So I had a bus driver starting to pull over again for me. I was able to make it clear that I was not in need. Sorry for the confusion, bus driver dude.


Last night I wore my HR monitor to bed to figure out my resting heart rate.

1. It's difficult to go to sleep when I'm thinking about going to sleep because I'm testing what something's going to be like when I sleep.
2. It's neat to see my HR elevated every time I woke up during the night. Also, I need to figure out how to sleep through the night.
3. My HR while sleeping stayed in the high 40s to low 50s for the most part. I don't fully know what that means, but it seems to fall into the "athletic" category for women my age. Which is cool, since I don't think of myself as an "athlete."


How do you define "athlete"? Someone who does athletic things? For fun? Someone who competes in events? Is it a job title? A way to describe anyone who sweats for fun?

I feel like athletes are people who truly compete in events. They train to win.

I train to play. I don't know what I'd call myself.

Monday, January 23, 2012

Miles and Mash

Saturday was my day off from working, which, of course, made me want to work out. Stupid body.

Instead, I threw myself into housework. The main bathroom got a top to bottom cleaning. The top of the medicine cabinet was disgusting. I'm not entirely sure anyone had cleaned it since it had been installed, long before we moved in.

I took care of the dishes, did a bunch of laundry, scrubbed some stains out of the living room carpet, and fixed a pair of pants that had been in my "to sew" pile for over a year. I also mapped out crockpot plans for every night of this week. It was a super productive day, and I never had to change out of my pajamas. My life is thrilling, I know.

Sunday I went grocery shopping, threw some crap in the crockpot, and hopped on my bike trainer.

20 miles, middle 10 HARD.


I know this is good practice. The bike part of my tri is 10 miles. And, if it were easy, it wouldn't be training, it would be dicking around. My coach told me "The hard biking never gets easier; you just go faster." It's simple, but I like it. And it makes sense. The speed I'm going may feel easier, but that just means I need to go faster.

My husband and brother were watching some football games on the tv, so I holed up in the guest room with my laptop and watched an episode and a half of The Dresden Files on Hulu. The series is not nearly as good as the books, so I'm not surprised it was canceled quickly. It didn't help that I had to turn on closed captioning. My bike training is super loud, and my laptop is not.

The front of my shirt appeared to be 100% damp.

The back at least had a few patches of dry fabric.

I love the stripe on the side of the shorts. I assume it would make me more visible if I ever nutted up and biked on the street again. Too many damn stop signs and street lights for me right now. Plus, I'm lazy.

Before I hopped in the shower I decided it was time to trim my hair. By myself. Clearly I am a genius. But, it didn't turn out terrible. At least I got rid of the raggedy ends. I'm set for another 14 months, or however long it's been since my last trim. Clearly I put a lot of thought, time, and effort into my appearance. But, if I put effort into my hair, what next? People might expect me to *gasp* wear make up or something? And then I'd actually to have to get out of bed more than five minutes before I left the house. Fuck that. I don't need to look pretty.

Once I was clean I decided to make cauliflower, carrot, and parsnip puree.

A small plate to taste everything (mostly because I had filled up on hummus and crackers and didn't have room for a huge, heaping plate. That came later). That's the puree plus a white bean, sausage, and kale thing. Not a stew. Not a soup. Just a crock pot thing.

And then my husband I tortured the dog.

Overall, a pretty swell weekend.

Saturday, January 21, 2012

One Of "Those People"

Yesterday I felt like this:

I really should have just hunted down that gif, because I'm giggling watching it.

But I didn't. I went through the motions of the day. I wasn't really sad. But I wasn't happy. I wasn't anything. Maybe a little bit tired. Maybe a little bit bored. Mostly gray. An absence where my normal joy for the day would be.

While I was setting up my bike trainer I was wondering what was wrong with me.

I never did figure it out, because I started biking.

5 minute warm up
1 min just left foot
1 min just right foot
1 min just left foot
1 min just right foot
1 min norm
10 mins HARD
10 min recovery

And then I sat there, on the coffee table, next to my bike trainer, dripping sweat and grinning. The bike was tough. Pedaling with one foot sucks major balls. During the "hard" section I cranked up the gears for the first time (finally!), keeping it above 21mph, whimpering a few times, yelling a few times. My quads were pissed. But it will get better. With practice. And the cool down. 18mph became a recovery pace.

And then there I was. Done. Dripping. And full of joy, light, life, happiness. Everything that had been missing all day was just pouring out of me.

And I realized. Feeling down? Go for a run! Which means. One of "those people."

My friends confirmed I've been like this for years. My husband told me I was an addict.

Who cares. I felt great. I still do. Endorphins are cool, man.

Endorphins and a metric fuckton of sweat.

The End.


In other news, I'm running Ragnar this spring with a bunch of rando people I met online, and Aspaeris is one of our sponsers. In addition to giving us free shorts so everyone's ass can look as good as mine during the relay, they're offering 50% off their shorts for everyone.

The code for the sale is "cooleronline". Because we're all lamer in person. Well, I am.

I don't have my free pair of shorts yet, so I can't tell you if they're awesome, or if they promise you love, steal your wallet, and leave. I just know they're having a sale. And I'm supposed to tell you about it. So, boom. Done.

Friday, January 20, 2012

Sky's The Limit

My brother Sky is carless right now (he sold his car to fund a European honeymoon for 5 months), so sometimes he is subject to the whims of those of us with cars.

Last night he was my burden. He gets along well with my trainer, so I took him along with me. After enough mocking and cajoling, we convinced him to do circuits with me.

He kept up pretty well.

We talked about:

-tartar sauce flavored edible underwear
-restaurants that make you shit your pants
-shitting your pants in general

The Workout

20 kb swings (20kg)

1 minute bike
10 deadlifts (95lbs)
10 chest press (two 35lb dbs)
10 squat and rows
10 (per side) step ups
10 curls (two 15lb dbs)
1 minute treadmill (7-8mph)

partner planks with 25 hand slaps
15 per side one leg foot touch crunches.

By the end of it, Sky left a sweat shadow.

"Hang on Sky, I have to take a picture of my sweat."

"And, um, the sweat on my...back?"

On the way home we stopped by a side of the road taco truck. "I'd like, um...twenty tacos."

"For here or to go?"

Apparently taco truck guy thought I was going to sit there and eat 20 tacos.

No. I was splitting them with Sky and my husband. I worked out hard, but not 20 tacos hard. Just 6 or 7 tacos hard. Side of the road tacos are the best. I love southern California.