|Work BFF:||I'm doing my nephew's first birthday cake, and I'm looking on Pinterest at 1 and 2 year old boy's birthday cakes and these are their names: Carter, Clay, Peyton, Kaden, Beckham, Xander, Hudson, Jett, Brady, Bailey, Weston, Arian (LIKE ARYAN).|
|Me:||Oh my god.|
|Work BFF:||This is like 80% of the names on the page. I skipped over maybe one Henry, a Ben, and a William.|
|Work BFF:||Sorry, don't forget CASH and JACE and RIELY [NOT SIC].|
|Me:||No. Gage cannot be real.|
|Work BFF:||KNOX. OAKLEY.|
|Me:||Oh my god, one day we are going to have a President Oakley.|
|Work BFF:||LINKIN. LINKIN, JULIA. LIKE LINKIN PARK.|
|Me:||I can't believe this.|
|Work BFF:||I am not making this up. And this is not like the Pinterest page for "ridiculously named 1 year old's birthday cakes." it is just a Pinterest board for BOYS' BIRTHDAY CAKES.|
|Me:||WHO ARE THESE PARENTS.|
|Work BFF:||Cruz. HAYSTEN. THAT IS JUST TWO RANDOM SYLLABLES PUT TOGETHER!|
|Me:||It's like a 2014 boys name generator. Just put 2 one-syllable words together. SKY-RING. VEST-CONE. DRY-POSE.|
|Work BFF:||Happy first birthday, Vestcone!|
The partner who I’m traveling with this week has run the New York City marathon 13 times, the Boston marathon 2 times, and the Ironman twice. Last night at dinner, he told me about how he started crying and hyperventilating after getting off the bike in his first Ironman when he realized that, even though he had already been exercising for an entire day, he now had to run 26.2 more miles.
I’m not as nervous about the half marathon on Sunday anymore, I think.
This is now a Veep appreciation blog.
There is only one thing that distinguishes month-long “sugar cleanses,” whole30, and choosing to go gluten free without having celiac disease from eating disorders: marketing.
It saddens me to report that, by simply not drinking for the last three weeks* in preparation for my race and without changing any of my other dietary habits, I have lost five pounds. Now I can no longer claim ignorance to the effects of drinking wine versus water while sitting on my couch. It is unclear, however, if said weight loss is actually due to my lower caloric intake, or is simply the result of the extra energy expended by a complete and total lack of relaxation.
* I did have wine on Passover. Not because of the requisite four cups of wine at the seder, but because I was with my family for many, many hours. This is probably why alcohol has such a central role in most major religions; even our ancestors didn’t want to listen to Grandpa Abraham pick a fight with Uncle Jacob about his new wife without a cup of wine on the side.
ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:**: *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟﾟ:*✧･:*
･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:*✧:*･ﾟhappiness is *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ:*
･ﾟ:*✧: * a breakfast sandwich✧*:･ﾟ *:
･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:**: *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:*
No, of course we don’t have a problem with rape culture in this country, why ever would you think that we did?
I want to thank everyone for all of their words of encouragement about my post yesterday. I’m still scared shitless, but it’s really nice to know that other people have gone into races — especially their first long races — less prepared than they’d like to be, and finished without ending up in the morgue.
Also, I’m already looking up fall half marathon options, because masochism.
I need to vent for a second about this half marathon.
Everything was going really well for a while. Like, REALLY well. For more than two months, actually. I religiously followed my training plan (made for beginners with a goal of finishing and not doing anything for time). I slogged through so many miles on the treadmill in January and February. I brought my running shoes on multiple business trips — and actually put them on. I started running outside as this abysmal winter started to pass, and even completed a ten mile run at the end of March. Except for a long run that I had to cut short due to an unanticipated rainstorm mixed with a few too many beers the night before, I didn’t miss a single workout. I felt healthy and amazing and, with the increase in vitamin D in my system, ALIVE.
And then, on April 1, after running 5 miles that morning without incident, the outside of my right foot started hurting so badly that I could barely even walk. The three block walk home from my subway stop was agony. It was as if my body was saying, you thought you could run a half marathon?? April Fools!
Two days later I saw an orthopedist, who diagnosed me with peroneal tendonitis. I spent the following weekend not moving, with ice on my foot and severe anxiety. (Just ask The Dude, who witnessed me actually crying over a Seamless Web order.) The following Monday, I went to my first prescribed physical therapy session, where I expected to be told that I could resume running now that my pain had somewhat subsided. Haha, yeah, not so much. She told me that, if my goal was to run the race, I should keep up my cardio by doing things like the stationary bike (ugh) or the elliptical (UGH), that I should keep coming to physical therapy to do foot and ankle strengthening exercises, and that I should do my best not to further aggravate my tendon. In other words, unless she tells me otherwise, I shouldn’t run.
So this is where I am right now. Going to physical therapy three times a week, doing foot stretches twice a day, trying to get excited about spending an hour on the elliptical. I haven’t run in exactly 14 days, and it’s unclear whether I will at all between now and the race. I spend my days vacillating between:
I am going to be okay on April 27 as long as I keep doing cardio and have a good attitude and remember when I ran 10 miles? I can totally do this.
Holy shit I am going to die on April 27 and I am such a failure and why in the fuck did I think I could do this and I’m going to have to walk the entire race and oh god I probably won’t even be able to finish and everyone is going to see me fail.
Obviously, I am spending much more time thinking the latter.
I’m not going to drop out of the race. That has never even been an option. Doing so would make me feel like more of a failure than I feel right now. (And I know that getting injured isn’t the same thing as failing, but shit, this certainly feels like failure.) But I really don’t know if I’ll be able to finish, and that scares the shit out of me, especially after I tried so hard and put in so much time and told so many people. I am not used to failure, but that’s not because I’m preternaturally gifted at everything. That’s because, let’s be honest — at this stage in my life, I don’t try things that I know I’m not very good at. And running is one of those things.
But I think the worst part about it is that I thought I was finally getting better. Not better in terms of speed, because, let’s be real, these corgi legs of mine will never consistently run faster than a 10 minute mile. But they could keep going, even at my pathetically slow speed, for distances I never thought I was capable of. And now I don’t even know if I can run a single mile, let alone 13.1.
I guess the point of all of this is to say that I’m terrified. I’m afraid that in the 27 days between my last run and the race, I will have lost all of my running ability. That I’ll go out there, with my friends and family on the sidelines, and fail. That I’ll have to face the people who put up with me, and who donated to me, and tell them that I just couldn’t do it. And I don’t know if all of the elliptical workouts in the world can prevent that from happening.
So if you could send some good vibes my way on April 27, I’d really appreciate it.
This is the most accurate sentence that has ever been said on national television.
Inches? I thought we were rating them on hotness.
Jaclyn’s post is amazing and important, and all of you should read it right away, but I also just want to add that it made me think of this scene.