Crossing The Line…..The Finish Line

I used to avoid the idea of entering running races because I never wanted to be the one that came in last. And then it dawned on me. Someone has to be last. And so what if its me? Who cares what your time is or your rank? You finished something a good 90% of the population in your city did not even bother to wake up for. First, last, or somewhere in between, you gave ‘er shit and got ‘er done and lookee here, you have the t-shirt to show for it.

I read a tweet the other day that someone wrote about not bothering with a race because they feared they’d be last and couldn’t stomach it. The tweet was written by a person who is a very seasoned runner, clearly not used to anything but top ranking, and the idea of being in the back of the pack with us lowly “slow pokes” was reason enough to lace up on their own elsewhere, so as not to be embarrassed that someone might lump them in the same group as us. For shame. It makes me think that they are the type that would snicker when they see a heavier person out there walking/jogging/TRYING.

It prompted an “Unfollow”. True athletes support each other, are proud of each others effort and accomplishments. True athletes realize that waking up every day to slug it out with the pavement or the treadmill or the weights is an unending commitment and know that as long as they are out there trying, then they’re “one of us”. True athletes know that trying is the very best you can do. So long as you are trying, you are, in your own way, kicking ass. So long as you are trying, you are, in your own way, an athlete.

So to the tweeter who couldn’t possibly enter anything that might make them push themselves, possibly face the fact that theres always room for improvement, I say this: I may come in last, but I am not on the couch. I am not in bed. I am not sitting on my ass doing nothing. I am out here, with you, running, just like you are. And I’m trying my best. “Last” is better than “Did Not Finish”, which trumps “Did Not Start”.

The Thing About Muscles

A few things I have learned this week about muscles:

1) You require your tricep muscle to accurately apply mascara. You can use opposite hand to securely hold mascara-wand-holding-arms-elbow to steady application. And then be thankful you only wear mascara and do not need to repeat this.
2) You require your chest muscles to turn corners in your car, and you particularly need them to parallel park. This one I took for granted until I realized how many turns it took to get to work, get home, get to my girls school and park the car. Our city is made up of constant turns.
3) You require your quads to lower yourself on to a chair or toilet, this is especially true in the dark, in the middle of the night, when the seat is freezing cold.
4) You also require your quads to get back up off of said chair or toilet. You may let out an “oompf” at this point.
5) You require both your biceps and your triceps to raise your arms high enough to wash your own hair. If you know this in advance, you can plan to have a helper onsite. Or get comfortable with not washing your hair for a few days.

Its kind of cool, how all these little moves use all of these different parts of your body. And that working them out properly leaves THEM feeling sore and YOU feeling, well, them. When your muscles are sore a day or so after a workout, it means they are repairing the damage from the workout. And in repair is where gains are made and strength is created. So I will suffer through the messy mascara eyes, driving like an old granny, grimacing as I lower into any seat of any kind and washing only the lower third of my hair because I know I did good. I have made gains. I have gotten stronger.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Things change. They change constantly. Even when, perhaps, you don’t want them to.

Schedules. Ever changing. I am currently getting up at 5am to workout. I determined that if I was going to actually workout and stick to it, I needed to be doing it at a time of day where there were NO other distractions. No supper to be made, no groceries to go get, no Coronation Street about to start. Now granted, my warm and ever-so-cozy bed is a GIANT distraction but I feel like I’ve told enough people that I am doing this that it literally forces me to get up. That and the fact that Pat is already up and downstairs, getting ready for work. I also remind myself of all of the things I have to get done after work and realize that, welp, I’m up, may as well saunter on downstairs, have my coffee, head to the basement, lace up them bright orange kicks, turn the tv on to Sports Centre and sweat the morning away.

The coolest part about working out first thing? Well, there are 3 really. One, when I come upstairs after, the house is starting to shine with the rising sun. I don’t need the lights turned on. I can shuffle around making lunches in the natural, beautiful, early light of day. Two, I am done. I am done for the day and don’t even have to THINK about rationalizing to myself why I *might* not workout after work. Its done. Done-diddly-done-done-done. And thats pretty cool. And three? By the time I sit down and have my second cup of coffee, post-shower, watching my girl have breakfast and finish homework, I marvel at the realization that I have been both awake and productive for nearly three hours already. That’s pretty mind-blowing.

Granted, as our schedule changed to become what it currently is, I know that just as quickly it can change again and become something else altogether. But I have proven to myself that I can adapt to these changes, I can make them work in such a fashion that my health will remain a priority, and that I don’t have to necessarily LIKE it, to stick to it. *yawwwwnnnnnn*

It’s a Sad, Sad World

I have yet to watch a documentary about the events of 911. I can’t bring myself to see people desperately falling from a building. I have yet to watch a documentary about the Katrina disaster. I can’t bring myself to watch people perched on their roofs, or X’s on houses, or numbers indicating how many dead inside. I have yet to read an article about the Newton shootings. I can’t bring myself to absorb the words of families who no longer have the sweet luxury of kissing their babies goodnight. So I don’t know what compelled me to open the picture from yesterdays bombing in Boston, the one marked “Extreme Graphic Content”.

I won’t ever forget it.

There were people on twitter saying they would pray for Boston. There were people saying what about the places in the world where this happens everyday. There were people comparing one tragedy to another, as though the one they cared about was more important. I have an idea. Whatever your faith, your nationality, your homeland, your belief system, how about we all just “pray” for the good to outweigh the evil. How about we “pray” for everywhere in the world that sees these types of tragedies, whether its once a decade, once a year, once a month, once a week, or god forbid, once a day. In no way does a regular occurence of this magnitude somewhere else, detract from the fact that it has happened in Boston, in our backyard. On the contrary. It is a stark reminder that it happens, everywhere.

I think of the planners of the marathon and my heart breaks for them. As an event planner, I know the weight of what we put on ourselves before and during an event. I know the responsibility we load on ourselves, what the enormity of the entire event resting firmly on our shoulders feels like. I know they planned their security in the same fashion that they would have in the last few years and I know they were comfortable with that and I would have been also. I cannot imagine the grief and the guilt they would have been feeling after this happened. It is not their fault, but they will feel like it is. This I know.

I think of those runners. Those runners that trained for this, that live a healthy and likely busy lifestyle, doing what they can to prolong their lives, doing what they can to keep their hearts beating and blood pumping. I think of them as they ran that course, wondered if they were hoping for a personal best, hoping for a chance to beat last year, or hoping just to finish. I think of them and wonder, who will keep running? Who will cower and not enter another group run again, who will run the minute they can to help them work through it all, and who can never run with the power of their own two, fully functioning legs again. I think of them the most.

Running is such a personal thing. It can be a private moment you have with yourself. A time where you marvel at how YOU can shape your life, your body, and your mind. And I keep going back to that image in my head, the one I looked at and will always remember. That person, that person who went out for a run one sunny Monday in Boston, and I think to myself “I will run. I will run for you while you cannot. I will run until you can run again.”

We are lucky. We are not exempt. But we are lucky. We live in a great country and a wonderful city and no matter what people say about it to the contrary, we are lucky. And yes, I realize that up until yesterday I am sure those that live in Boston would have said the same thing. But as I sit and send my positive and healing thoughts up into the universe, I choose to put my faith into the belief that Mr. Rogers was right. That there are more helpers out there than not. That whenever bad things happen, you need to look for a helper because they will always be there. Where there is one person who is walking with evil, there are hundreds running to help.

Lost, Do Not Find

So after an overly-successful first attempt at Christmas baking (never to be replicated) and a weekend in New Orleans (definitely to be replicated), I had filled my face with enough delicious bad bad goodness to gain back a whopping 12 pounds. Yes. 12. I DO believe that is a record. Combined with the fact that I had not run since around September due to my stomach stuff, you got one jelly-feelin’ gal.

But alas, common sense hath once again prevailed. Eating well and exercising for the last couple of weeks has seen a solid loss of four pounds thus far. Its likely the only time I’ll lose something and not be frantically trying to find it again. I have around 8 more to go to get back to pre-stomach-issues, pre-christmas-baking, pre-n’awlins-pigouts health. I no longer see this as an obstacle or as somehting unattainable. I DO believe there will be more lost than found around here. And here. And a little over here too.

Puddle Cruncher

I do believe spring has sprung in Winnipeg folks. I know, with the chilly mornings and random snowfall, that a good chunk of you may disagree with me, but trust me. Its in its early stages, but it has sprung.

Snow is melting, making streets wet n dirty and car washes busy but useless. Puddles are popping up all over the place, namely part way down my street where the grate is blocked by ice because of the poor street clearing this year. Its a doozie, this puddle, and will require some serious puddle jumping this weekend, methinks.

As I leave the house every morning to head to work and I drive over patches of crunchy, breaking ice that were shiny, glistening puddles yesterday, I am reminded of grade 5. Taking the bus to school, wearing my red spring jacket that I had waited months to put on, yellow stripe across the chest, lined with soft white flannel, long enough sleeves to tuck my fingers into. Jumping off the bus and getting across Grant before proper crosswalks were a thing, heading down the long road to school, scouting out the best route and trying to stay ahead of my brother so I would get all of the biggest crunches. You see, the goal? Crackle all of the puddles in the sidewalk that had a wonderfully frozen layer of crust on them from the overnight dip in temperature. We’d run and crunch, zig and crunch, zag and crunch. And occasionally, run and slide if the puddle was a stubborn bugger. Which, as you can only imagine, would involve many a re-do as the suprise of sliding versus crunching was worth repeating and doing a proper job of it.

So get outside people. Go crunch some puddles in the morning sun before the crust is melted away. And when you get to that stubborn puddle that won’t crunch? Back up, take a good long run at it, and sliiiiiiiide.

Stop it, People.

10 things that need to stop, immediately:

1) Mens jeans with thick white stitching. Stop.
2) Jeans with jewels of any kind, whether on pockets or elsewhere, whether colored or diamond-y. Stop.
3) Wearing backpacks with shoulder straps at the lowest possible hook. You are destroying your back. Stop.
4) Women who constantly need to put it out there that they are also manly. You hunt. You wear plaid. You enjoy being in the bush. Big deal. This is not unique to men. Stop.
5) Adding hugs and kisses to everything you write. Do you really know people well enough that you would behave squishily with them in person? Stop.
6) Acting like you’re famous, and spending all your time working at pretending its true. You’re not. Stop.
7) Being self-depricating, just to hear good things about yourself from others. Get over yourself. Stop.
8) Duckface in photos. Its obvious. Stop.
9) Phone calls. There are a few exceptions to this rule, and you know who you are. Otherwise? Stop.
10) Sports-team-bashing. No team is perfect, all the time. Support your team, win or lose. Don’t crap on them when they don’t have their shit together. Just stop.