Sometimes on Wednesdays...

I'll post a recipe I tried on my other blog. I can't be bothered to recreate that post here, so read the actual post about my healthy fruit dip called Fruit Fluff, HERE.

Click. It's got pictures over there.

Post Marathon Pics

Abbie is the best. She brought me a chocolate milk, bath salts, a card, and she gave me a long foot massage while I shivered away after my stupid ice bath (see below)

Uh. Freak bicep. What the--? 

Trust me. 

I don't have muscles.

Utah Valley Marathon 2012

Guys. Running a marathon is a totally idiotic thing to do.

Since Saturday, June 9, 2012, I have done nothing but sleep, eat, and whine about how hard it is to climb stairs and sit down to pee. Seriously, nothing makes me sadder than knowing I have to go to the bathroom. I mean, nothing makes me sadder than knowing I have to go to the bathroom anyway, but whimpering in pain just adds more sorrow.

At least I have that handlebar to comfort me.

 But...

Talk about amazing.

The never-ending bus ride to the start.

This is Adam. We began as country-dancing buddies.

I'm way cool, guys.

Since he began running just over a year ago, he has lost 130 pounds. We ran our first race together last November, the Snow Canyon Half Marathon.

Here he is today.

Annnnnnd....that was the last I ever saw him.

Because he's much faster than I am.

This race was so hard for me. I had been training really hard up until the Provo City Half at the beginning of May (which I forgot to blog about), but then I was scheduled for more hours and working  8-10 hour shifts at the restaurant, that I was so exhausted from being on my feet all day. As a result, training really suffered, so I was definitely not as prepared as I should have been. 

But I was determined to do it, and to finish, no matter how long it took me. 

The night before, I met up for dinner with Adam and Julia, from Pain, Pride, and Perseverance (I met her at the Provo City Half--she had an empty seat next to her on the bus and we hit it off immediately), for dinner at the Pizza Factory to do a bit of carbo-loading.

I only slept three and a half hours, and fitfully at that. But I got so many supportive messages on Facebook, and one of my best friends, Jake, text messaged me a heap of encouragement. Which was actually only one text, but considering who it was, it was a heap. And my roommate Logan wrote me a list of 26.2 Reasons to Succeed, one of which included my ability to hold my pee. 

I couldn't argue with that, so I dutifully ate my bagel and banana, sipped some Gatorade, and geared up to tackle the biggest challenge in my life thus far.

I tried to take a few pictures on my phone as I ran. The race started up in Wallsburg, Utah, wound down through Provo Canyon, and ended up in downtown Provo. An incredibly beautiful course.

The first ten miles or so were a breeze and I was enjoying myself.

Landscape was beautiful, sunlight was warm, and the air was cool.

Then we came out into the canyon and hit the 13.1 mark, which I think was the most daunting thing ever. I realized that I had to do the same distance I had just done. Again.

And did I mention the wind was just BRUTAL? There were times where I swear I was just standing still, even though my arms and legs were moving. And did I mention that this race lied to me? For being a downhill race, there was a heap of hills at the beginning. There is nothing I hate more than dishonesty.

But I just kept plugging along. But not before resting for a minute in the Port-a-Potty.

Miles 14-16 were uneventful. There was a sweet lady with a sign on her back that said "It's my 41st birthday today!" She was so nice to me, asking me if I was doing okay, and patting me encouragingly on the arm. I wish I could've told her at the end how much that helped me. Around mile 17, I sort of started to panic. I was so tired, and things were hurting, and salt streaks were forming on my skin. And there was still so much left to go.

So I stopped to stretch for a minute and took a picture of the river. Because it looks way better if you appear to be enjoying nature rather than trying to decide how to get out of this situation you put yourself in. Like an idiot.

And then I kept going. And I started to pray. Silently. Out loud. I was begging God to help me get through this and just finish. I think I said His name so many times that I had to apologize to Him for most likely taking it in vain. 

Finally, finally, we came out of the canyon onto University Avenue and there were only six miles left. But now I was walking every few minutes or so because it just hurt so much. And I was on the verge of tears for most of it. A couple of times, I couldn't hold them back, so I was jogging past all of the supporters with tears rolling down my face, trying to wipe them off with hands that were just so hard to lift because my arms were exhausted.

But the volunteers in this race were amazing. And so were the spectators. There were three things that made me smile during the heartache of the last few miles. There were the people that were ringing cowbells. There were the signs that said "Chuck Norris never ran a marathon" and "Worst parade EVER." And there was the blue otter pop that was handed to me.

I saw the finish line in the distance and kept hobbling along. Then I was only a few feet away. And my friend Abbie was screaming my name, and then I was there. Mustering up the energy to cartwheel across the finish line.

Yep. I cartweeled at the end of 26.2. What a dork. I think I almost knocked the photographer off his little stand. And then they hung my finisher's medal around my neck.

Which is the point I burst into full, choking, gulping sobs. At the same time, another photographer asked me if I was ready to get my official picture. I was horrified and could only manage to blubber, "Wha-aa-aat?" But they took the picture, salt streaks, tear stains, sweat, snot, and all. Beautiful.

But it was beautiful. I have never felt so much all at one time in this small body of mine. I was crying out pain and fear and insecurity. Excitement and agony and joy. I have never hurt so much or felt so good in my whole life. This was the most rewarding physical, emotional, and spiritual experience of my life.

And as soon as I can pee without falling down onto the toilet first, you can bet I'll be out training for my next one.

Which, according to my friend Seth, means I "completely missed the point of running a marathon."

(more pictures to come, as soon as I can get them from Abbie)

Somebody That I Used to Know

I was watching Glee last night. Don't judge me. When you love something at the beginning, it's so very hard to tear yourself away, even when you consciously know that it just went very, very bad. Okay? Okay.

Darren Criss and Matt Bomer covered Gotye's "Somebody That I Used to Know," and while the song doesn't really have anything to with this post, it's the title that got me thinking about this person I used to know.

For the last week or so, I've let my eating somewhat go to hell, and as a result, I've been feeling guilty as hell. Even now, when I'm still 30-35 pounds lighter than I was at my heaviest, exercising fairly regularly, and eating mostly healthy--when I look in the mirror I still see this girl:

I see the girl who couldn't walk up a flight of stairs, or the hill by her house, without getting out of breath. I see the girl who refused to move off the couch to play and run outside because she was afraid of looking like a fool. I see the girl who wasn't strong enough to illegally climb over the gates of her university's football stadium to play ultimate Frisbee, but who was so embarrassed to have her friends boost her, because it wasn't easy for them to do. I see the girl who wore baggy, shapeless, ugly clothing because that represented her.

There are so many things I couldn't and wouldn't do because I was so unhealthy. And now, I can walk up that hill by my house in just a few minutes without my breathing spiking the least little bit. I am excited about hiking 3000 feet up to the top of Squaw Peak in Utah (a six-mile round trip affair). I can go on double-digit mile runs without stopping. I relish piggy-back rides and hugs that lift me off the ground. 

But whenever I eat a few too many sweets, or I'm just too tired from work to go on my scheduled training run, or I go over what I think my calorie limit should be, the guilt and shame is overwhelming. Suddenly, my accomplishments are diminished. I feel the same panic that I won't be able to fit through a narrow spot, or that my dancing buddy won't be able to lift me, or that when I eat, all eyes are on me. Or that I have to forget the clothes on the small end of the sizing spectrum and go back to the large end.

I'm the chubby girl again.

I don't know how to get her out of my head or my mirror. And I don't think I will ever be able to lose the last several pounds to get to where my head and my body will agree with each other, if I can't figure this vicious cycle out.

Do any of you ever feel this way? How do you deal with these emotions? What can I do to motivate myself when I feel myself falling back from reaching my goals?  

The SLC 10-Miler, half a jazz hands, and mah dolly.

I ran the Salt Lake City 10-Miler on Saturday. Not before doing some very specialized warmups.

Some booty-shakin'...

You can't tell, but I'm being a Jet from West Side Story.

A leeeetle flamenco...

And one jazz hand.

Or before taking the special shot that will become the "Pin the Peace Sign on the Asian" game for my birthday party.

After that, though.... we ran.

After about the first two miles of the race, I caught up to this dude (don't worry, he was married) who was maintaining a really pleasant pace, so I stayed with him for the remaining eight miles. I did apologize eventually for being a creeper (which is kind of what I do, and I make no apologies HERE for it), but he didn't seem to mind.

And except for the parts where I had to tie my left shoelace three freaking times (why I didn't double-knot the first time, I'll never know), the running was awesome. My buddy pulled ahead after my third shoelace incident, so I didn't get to run across the finish line at the same time. (He did shake my hand and congratulate me while we were chugging grape juice at the end. Thanks Jim. You da man.)

Can't say the same for this other FOOL who blocked what would've been an epic shot of me leaping into the air, victory signs flashing high and proud. You should've heard the cheers and the manly "Yee-ahs!" that exploded from the crowd for that.

But you will have to settle for this victory pose instead. I was very proud of my 1:35:06.83

And then my fam-bam met me at the end. Mummy, Daddy, and Niecey.

I'm sorry, but there is NO WAY your niece is cuter than mine.

And then I stuffed my face at IHOP. The end.

All photos courtesy of Marie Teemant Photography