The fifth installment of the 40 miles adventures...

So October was a long time ago.  I know.  I know.  That is how I roll right now. But less rolling and more barely keeping up with anything at all.  Some people are amazing at time management.  I am not one of those people.

However... I am sort of a new kind of person that I never thought I could be again...
I am (very loosely put) a runner.  Or slow jogger.  Semantics.
October was the month when I finally was brave enough to open the Couch to 5k app that has been on my phone for months and months.  October was the month when I changed from "I'll run until that tree way down the path, okay, I actually meant this closer tree instead..." to running when the dude in my headphones told me to run.  Until he tells me to stop.

Best part?  I haven't died yet.

Does it help that I run right below my Junior High?  Where I broke a six minute mile?  No.  It does not.  I was a crazy fast thirteen year old.  I am now a crazy slow way more than thirteen year old.  The only thing thirteen about me now is the pace I am happy running a mile.

Thankfully, early in the morning, nobody fast runs on the trail.  Actually, hardly anyone is on the trail.  Just some leisure walkers and their dogs.  Who like to say hi.  I however do not like to say hi.  I do not want to move my head, smile, or waste a single bit of oxygen being friendly.  I am using every single ounce of it trying not to drop dead.  Nor do I want to move for the beagle lady who ALWAYS walks on the wrong side of the sidewalk.  Always.  This is not England.  It is America.  The beagle lady gets no hello from me.  Having to swerve around her takes precious energy that I need for that whole not dying thing.  Other side lady. OTHER SIDE.

So that is me.  The angry, unfriendly, almost dying, staring straight forward, just get this stupid thing over with, listening to not-safe-for-children music way too loud in my ear buds, why do people like it, I feel like they are total liars, because I will never ever ever like it, runner.

Recently a friend told me that power walking burns the same if not more calories than running.
Ewwwwwww.
Maybe it does.  Lets be honest though.... running is way more BA.
Take that power walkers.

In case you are like me and are curious how this whole deal goes down, here is typical morning in this reluctant runner-ish girl...

Alarm.  5:46.  Because 5:45 seems way more awful for this night owl.
Outfit ready on the floor next to my bed.
Coffee.  Luna honey pretzel bar.  I stab people if I don't have coffee immediately, I barf if I don't eat immediately.
Water.  I used to carry it, but that is annoying.  Then I would bring it, but stash it in the bushes.  One too many episodes of Law & Order has made me convinced that a bad guy could drug it while I wasn't watching.  Now I embrace temporary dehydration.
Advil.
Shoes.
Start the Mapmyrun app.
Out the door.
Before daylight savings it was dark when I left.  Spooky and murdery dark.  Now that the sun is peeking out, the fearing for my life has diminished.
Fast walk for a mile listening to a sermon or this album.  I have to balance out the parental advisory playlist that is coming up.
Start C25K.  Hate every single second of it.  HATE.
Finish, cool down and walk back home, listening to Mumford.
While I am gone, Jason gets the girls up, dressed and fed.  I swoop in just in time to do all of their hair.  Then he takes them to school.  I love him.  Mornings are rough.  He makes them way less rough.
Repeat three times a week.
The other two days I have the little two in the stroller, and try to meet a friend for a normal, human being hour of the day, enjoyable, less wanting to die, walk.

Will I ever enter a real race? NO.  NEVER.  Pay money to be tortured, and deal with my crowd anxiety issues?  Nothankyouverymuch.  "Oh, but The Color Run looks so fun and raninbow-y."  NO. Yes rainbow-y.  NOT FUN.  Will I ever like this nonsense?  No.  Never.  I am okay with that.  I do feel better.  I feel a bit less old and creaky than I did when I started.  Advil is my friend.  It will always be my friend.  Will it ever be fun to wake up before the sun?  No.  Would I love to stay cozy under my covers for another hour?  Hello. That is a dumb question.

Each time the alarm goes off, this very simple phrase haunts me, and makes me get out of bed.

Next week I will tell you how one run with my husband made me want to quit forever.  Plus if I made it to the 50 mile goal for November.  Yep.  Dramatic.

So I did it.
Barely.
Ugly.
Not well.
44 miles in September.  Plus a few dozen more footsteps.

This is how it went down.

(Or when I blame lots of other things for the fact that I was just sort of lazy.)

We walked together as a family almost every night in August.
Soccer and homework have jacked up those plans.

The weather was nice in August.
It has been hideous all September.

I like freedom.
I do not like schedules.

Schedules jack up my freedom.
Schedules take a while for me to embrace.

The 1st quickly became the 10th.  On the 10th I had logged a total of zero miles.
The 10th became the 17th.  On the 17th I had logged a grand total of 5.27 miles.

I was in big trouble.  Gigantic trouble.
Thirteen days.  38.73 miles to go.  I should have quit.  I really should have.  But I am stubborn.  I don't set many goals, because when I do, it kills me if I don't reach them.  Keeps me up at night.
So I did what any night owl who is a nightmare before 7am would do...
Set my alarm for 5:45 am.  Put on my workout clothes.  Drank a lot of coffee.  Ate a Luna bar.  Grabbed my earphones.  Headed out the door.  Alone.  Because nobody who values their life is allowed to talk to me before 7 am.  Nobody.

Guess what?  Being alone is amazing.  Being alone means you get more miles in quicker.  Mainly because of the music and the whole no stroller/ nobody crying/ needing/ dropping things/ thing.
Lots more miles.

Lots less sweat too, since the sun has hardly awakened and started scorching the earth with it's wrath and fury.  Go away sun.  If I wanted to live in Phoenix, I would live in Phoenix.

The seemingly impossible became somewhat possible.  Three miles one day, four another, eight another (morning solo, evening with the family).

Mumford & Sons came out on the 24th and made it enjoyable, even.  I was so excited going to bed on the 23rd knowing that I would be able to listen to the whole album straight through the next morning.  That lovely next morning was my longest and fastest to date.  So good.

My knees and ankles may hate me.  I should have been smarter, I should have taken some days off when I was hurting.  But I am alive.  Alive, old, and slightly broken.  Even so, another month down.
No quitting.  Nope.

The goal for October?  41 miles.
My alarm and Mumford greeted me in the darkness this morning.  I thought a few times I might get murdered.  I need to borrow a dog.  Or watch less crime shows.  I do not want to be #44milesondateline

It's on October. You don't have a chance.
3.7 sweaty miles in before the temperature reached triple digits.   37.3 miles to go.  Yesss.

August.
The hottest month.
42 mile goal.
Laziness.
Craving air conditioning.  Not sweating.
Vacation.
Falling off the MyFitnessPal wagon.
However, because of my stubborn nature, the dumb goal was met.
Boom.

Every single mile included gobs of children.
Every single mile somebody cried.
Often multiple somebodies cried.

2.2 of those miles involved a very sweaty, very angry, 25 pound, beastly baby in the Ergo, because I accidentally left the stroller at home in the garage.  That was all kinds of delightful for my marginally healed, three kids got sliced out of me, c-section scar.

But in the midst of the crying, the drama, they got outside.  They got their wiggles out.  They are entering soccer season more prepared than they have ever been before. 

Let me just tell you, we are quite the spectacle on our adventures.  Lately we have been walking on a trail frequented by lovely retired folks and their pampered pooches.  Lovely retired folks who are not used to seeing multiple double strollers and lines and lines of small children walking/ running/ crying/ fighting.

As they see us coming, we can see their minds counting all of the small bodies in our care.  They usually greet us with a polite, yet stressed out YOU HAVE YOUR HANDS FULL!!!
Yes.  Yes we do.  Our sweaty hands are very full.  Full of awesome.

I also didn't get new shoes.
After heeding the overwhelming advice to go to a running store and be fitted, I decided to wait.
You see, the thought of having to run in front of the running store dude so he could figure out my stride or whatever is AWKWARD.  Hauling four wild children into the store with me as I have to run for the dude?  NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN. 

Since August meant I had zero by yo'self time, It also meant that I had zero run awkwardly for the dude by yo'self time.

Maybe this month. 

This months goal is 44 miles.  Today is the 6th.  My current tally is a gigantic goose egg.  A big old zilchy zilch.  I want to stay in and bake something.  It's hot outside.  But September is in for it.  Watch out.  Sweating to commence this evening.

Gross.
I want a cupcake.

53.99 miles.
The last mile?
That was a fun one.  It was boiling hot, so I decided to wear my super ugly/ super comfy/ Payless version of FitFlops.  The same pair that I have walked countless miles at Disneyland in.  The ones that have never shown any signs of wearing out.
Until they did.  
One mile in, down this trail, the toe strap busted.
Just like that.
NOT AWESOME.
I swiped my husband's socks off his feet (yep), we turned around, and nothing stood between the INFERNO blacktop and my sad innocent feet, but a pair of too big men's socks.
That was not uncomfortable at all.
I would have sat in the stroller if I fit.

The people who run barefoot are CRAZZZZZZYYYYY.
For sure their feet are hideous.
I'm sticking to my normal tennis shoes next time.

Speaking of which, I am in need of a new pair.
I set a goal of treating myself to a great fitting pair of shoes once I hit 100 miles.  No sense in getting them if I was just going to quit and I still can't believe it's sort of a reality now!!!

Got any recommendations?  Part of me wants a pair of rad turquoise Nike's...  But I'm thinking they need to be more about fit and comfort than cute.

The goal for August is 42 miles.

Are you in, or are you in?

These feet, in their unmatching socks, covered not just 40 miles in June, but 47.93 miles.
I somehow did not quit.

Like a sweaty boss.

From a grand total of zero miles in May.

Did I love it? NO.
Did I hate it a little bit less each day?  A TEENY LITTLE BIT.

The main motivation?
Hello, what else is there? Food!!!

June was also the month of MyFitnessPal, which is so rad if you are someone who needs structure and accountability in the-stuffing-of-your-pie-hole-department.
If you don't move, and move a lot, for a lot of minutes and a lot of sweatyness, you are TOTALLY STARVING.

When I am starving, I am so, so, so, so, mean.
Meeting your calorie goal without some sort of daily cardio is dang near impossible.

To avoid the mean wife/ mom/ friend, I had to get my miles in.  When you get your miles in, you get to add calories.  When you add calories, you get TO EAT MORE FOOD.

My knees may hurt.  I may feel old and broken.  I'd rather be home in the air conditioning baking (and eating, obvs) cupcakes.

Instead I am going to keep moving.  Like it or not.

So here is to covering ground.  Here is to eating food.

Here is to 45 gross sweaty miles in July.