SUAR Boot Camp

Do not ever come to visit me unless you are prepared to be uncomfortable.

I will feed you all kinds of rich food and wine, make you stay up way past your bedtime and give you an air  mattress as hard as a rock to sleep on. I will fart at my leisure and encourage you to do the same. I will try to keep my one eyed, three legged dog from humping you, but there are no guarantees.

I will wake you up at 6am and crawl in bed with you for a moment, then make you guzzle your coffee because we have things to do. I will ridicule you for wearing your fuel belt backwards and not tell you about all time times I’ve tucked skirts into underwear and walked around the restaurant so the whole world could see my ass.

 

I will take you on a 9 mile run even though you have not adjusted to the altitude and I will make you stand guard while I drop trou and take  mini dump in the bushes at mile four.

When you come in the door from said run I will make you drink 105 ounces of water so you do not dehydrate and then I will tell you to “chop chop” we have a busy day ahead so get your ass moving.

This is SUAR boot camp and if you don’t like it or Harry Beavers then I guess you go to the Hampton Inn.

How do you treat your guests?

Off to Boulder for the Health and Fitness Bloggers Conference!

SUAR

Laying on the Airport Floor

Here’s what I want to know. How the hell do you do it? Fit it all in?

This half ironman training is ridiculous. I seriously do not know how anyone trains for a full ironman and ever sees friends, gets work done, reads a book, cooks a meal, takes a dump, or washes the stains out of their shorts. Or, maybe they don’t. It’s insane.

This week I am trying to do a ten hour training week.

This is harder than it sounds. This means that most days I am doing double workouts or very long workouts. Today, for example, I got up and ran 7.17 miles and a few hours later went and swam 1,800 yds. That’s a total of 1:43 in workouts for today. Might not sound like much but when I’m trying to sandwich it in between work, kids and breathing, I find it challenging.

But, I did shower today mostly because the stench of my sweat and chlorine made me gag. I might have also had a skid in my skort from the run, but I’m not saying.

And, no, there can never be a picture without my dog in it. I think he is licking my scab. Bad dog. He follows me everywhere I go. He even doggy paddled while I swam laps today.

I was thinking about something. Why is this training kicking my butt so much when I train for and run marathons? I realized that even with marathon training, I would max out at about eight hours per week.

Maybe what I feared has come to pass. I really am a pussy.

A very small part of me is questioning why I signed up for this thing. I swear, I would consider dropping out (pussy) if I hadn’t paid $250 to sign up. Well, knowing me that is a lie. I wouldn’t drop out, but I will continue to wonder if I can keep this up.

In other daily news, son Sam left to go to Chicago for four days with my mom and dad. Yes, he’s 13, but I run a prison and he’s never been away from home without me for more than two nights. I like to think I am not an overly hovering or controlling mom, but I’m sure my kids might say different. Last night while watching his baseball game I texted him.

Me: I miss you already

Sam (after the game): You do? I’m looking at you right now.

When he left today I told him to call/text me so much it was annoying. I quickly got a text with this picture:

It said, “mom and baby laying on airport floor. knew you would like this.”

Made me smile.

I lied and told him he and I used to always do that. NOT. You won't catch me doing anything on an airport floor.

And now, I had a work appointment to get to in a hurry and my car is dead. Can you come over and jump me? Not in the dark alley sense, but in the jumper cable sense?

Do you lay on floors in airports?

How do you handle high high training volume without burning out or getting bitchy?

Are you a controlling parent? I like to think I am involved, but not controlling. I may be kidding myself.

It’s only 1:57 pm, but wine might be calling my name. I’ll try to hold off until 5pm.

SUAR

Is Training Destroying Your Home Life?

A little bit of housekeeping before I move onto the heavy and insightful stuff that will change your life.

Remember the anagram contest? You guys killed me. They were all really, really funny. But, the top five were:

1. Paula at Eat Watch Run: Anal Per Hour (eww. I guess you find this type of thing in the red light district. Paula said she wished she had known her anagram before she named her blog. Who wouldn’t visit a blog called Anal Per Hour?)
2. Stephanie at Thorns Have Roses: Hate Penis (to which she said, “What?? Liars!”)
3. Dog at See Dog Run: Anal Dick Trends (can’t pretend to know what this means, but sounds quite gay).
4. Twila at Twila Keeps Runnings: Ten Orgy Mom (dang, she’s busy)
5. Julie at ROJ Running : Juicier Slut (she said, “Now I know my code name and undergrad makes more sense.)

Email me (shutuprun@gmail.com) your addresses so I can send out some stickers!

Update: My one eyed, three legged dog Lucky who has a perpetual boner (you can see the tip in the picture) never leaves my side. As I blog, he lays at my feet. I am, therefore, very in tune with his bodily functions. My question is, why when dogs fart do they 1) look around as if to say, “who did it?” 2) immediately stick their nose into the butt to check it out? Or, maybe it’s just my dog. Perhaps if we humans were a bit more flexible we would do the same thing.  Don’t even get me started on dogs licking other parts and what humans wish they could do.

Moving on. An interesting and very relevant topic came up in the Wall Street Journal on Monday. In an article entitled, “A Workout Ate My Marriage,” the writer broaches the subject of endurance training and how it has been shown to negatively affect relationships.

Enter the term, “exercise widow/widower.”

Couple’s therapists have found that, “commitment weakens as alternatives increase,” meaning that as one person starts to find outside stimulus/activities/relationships, this can compromise the strength of the relationship.

While the article primarily focuses on the marital system, the affect is certainly felt throughout the entire family if children are in the picture.

Here’s what I think. Your home life doesn’t have to fall apart just because you want to train for an endurance event. You do, however, have to follow some rules.

1. The exception: If you are planning on training for a full Ironman, forget it. Get a divorce now, set up your child support and sublet a room above a gas station.
2. Be careful if you’re on the rocks. Does your relationship already kind of suck? Probably not a good time to start heavy training unless you are trying to find a way to mess things up so badly that a breakup will be easy.
3. Prepare everyone. Provided that things are relatively good at home, bring up your goals openly and honestly. Don’t blindside your family by walking in the door and exclaiming, “I am going to train for a marathon, join a running group with lots of fit and attractive people and be gone ten hours per week.” This screams, “I am having an affair!” or at best, “I didn’t care about you enough to make you part of this decision.”
4. Bring him/her on board. Try to talk your spouse/significant other into doing your event with you. This is what Ken and I do. Once I started running marathons, he started running halfs, so we could do a bit of our training together. Now he’s training for his first marathon and I sit on the couch injured and cry as he goes out for his runs and make him feel guilty. That is very good for our relationship. Luckily, we both signed up for the same half Ironman in August. Our kids might be orphaned, but at least we will still be together and in shape.
5. Don’t check out completely. Your spouse/kids will be making lots of sacrifices during your training, mostly because you will be gone a lot and when you’re finally home you will be tired, sore, hungry and irritable. So, when you are around do your best to fake it. Don’t check out on your kids and significant other. Also, try to plan your workouts at really inconvenient and sucky times for you, because these will probably be the best times for your family. For example, do your long runs starting at 4:00 a.m. or 10 p.m. so no one even knows your gone.

How do you keep your training from wreaking havoc on your family life/relationship?

Has your training ever caused significant conflict at home?

What’s your best tip for keeping it all balanced?

And, if you have done a full IM, how the hell did you pull that off?

Hoping to never be a widow,

SUAR

The Best Gift Ever

I found this piece of paper on my desk yesterday, made by my 9 year daughter.

Clearly she is not a teenager yet because she still thinks I’m cool.

I have often wanted to ask my kids, “How could I be a better mom?” But, then I am too scared. Will they have a laundry list that highlights all of my inadequacies? Will I find out what I have feared – that I have failed them?

The reason her gift means the world to me is not because it pictures things I love. Not because she hit the nail on the head regarding Boston (love how she calls it “the Boston.”) Not because she said nice things about me.

Because it shows her heart. Kind, compassionate, outwardly focused, creative, intuitive, selfless, beautiful.

I am so not the perfect mother. I can cringe thinking of things I have habitually done wrong or have not done at all. However, I do believe I have taught and modeled one thing really well.

When you love someone, you support them in their passions. You care about what they do, who they spend time with, how they feel. You are around. A lot. Just in case they need you. You give them space to be who they are, yet check back frequently to see how their journey is going. You can be counted on.You do what you say you are going to do.

I have never told my daughter I was nervous about Boston.  And, no, she does not read the blog. But, she obviously knows about my injury (crutches are a decent giveaway). How she knew yesterday, the day of my first run in three months, I would so need to read her words, I’ll never know. But, she knew.

Loving someone sometimes means showing up in the most unexpected of ways.

You bet I’ll be carrying this gift with me on April 18.

SUAR

Hairy Crack

Yesterday some douche told me I’m not an athlete.

But, he didn’t know about the compliment I got at the pool.

Per usual, I rigged my iPod on my visor, tightened my flotation belt, set aside my crutch and immersed myself in the deep end of the pool for some kick ass water running. 34 minutes of intervals. I turned up the AC/DC and Black Eyed Peas to drown out the “One two three o’clock for o’clock rock” coming from the ghetto blaster on the side of the pool. The pussy posse water aerobics crowd really digs that era of music. (I don’t say “pussy” in terms of “wimp.” I say it to refer to a body part. Just to clarify. There is nothing wimpy about those women).

If I can’t run on land then I’m going to become manic in the pool. When it was time to start an interval, my little legs propelled me so fast that that cruise ship off the California coast was SO jealous…and I didn’t even have to eat Spam (can you believe they shipped in Spam and Pop tarts to the ship? Some one is going to sue Carnival for sure. Not because their vacations were ruined or there was no running water or AC, but because they got SPAM).

I spent exactly 2,040 seconds kicking ass and taking names in the pool. I was running circles around Ethel and pushed Gertrude to the side as I raced through. I was winning, and no one knew it but me.

When it was all over, I dried myself off, grabbed my crutch and headed to the lap lanes because I wasn’t done yet. Everyone at the pool was astonished, thinking, “OMG she just ran in the water for 34 minutes and now she is going to swim laps. And she’s on one crutch”. Yes, it’s true I live in a fantasy world where people really give a shit and notice what I’m doing, but whatever, it gets me through the day.

So, I carefully picked my lap lane after deciding what type of swimmer I wanted to share with. The 70 year old guy in the speedo with the six pack? The guy with the back hair and the kick board? (Taken this summer by my daughter at the triathlon, same pool. She is scarred for life. You know he has a hairy crack.):

Just as I was getting in the water, an older dude, probably 60, got out. He had the lap lane by the deep end where I was running. I smiled at him because that’s what I do. He looked at me and said, “You get those legs going pretty fast for an injured person.”

Yeah, that’s right. Why, thank you. Take that douche bag who insults marathoners and tells them they’re not athletes.

I then went to the Starbucks’ drive thru to reward myself for my athleticism. I even bought the lady behind me her three pack of mini scones. I was careful to ask what she ordered before I offered to pay. If she had gotten five Venti lattes I would have back out. I’m generous, but not that generous.

Today it is snowing. People moan and groan like, “OH MY GOD, it is snowing and cold and gray!” Yeah, well, it is November 11 and you do live in stinking Colorado. Why so surprised? Every year, why so surprised?

Here’s what went on here this morning:

Hi, it’s me, SUAR, and it’s SNOWING! In Colorado! In November! Amazing! (We bloggers are the masters at self portraits).

 

Here is my one eye again!

A great morning for oatmeal if you are in 7th grade and have wet hair!

She joined the one eyed club too. Only her club is one-eyed, open mouthed.

Yeah, it’s never too cold for a crap:

You know what you did. Don’t even look all cute and act like, “I didn’t just lay a big one in the snow.” Even if you are the President of the one-eyed club.

 

Off to yoga for the first time since the big “I” (Injury). The big “I” is NOTHING like the big “O.”

Getting ready to be a warrior,

SUAR

(Wo)Man Vs. Dog

Do you ever watch something happen, knowing you should do something about it, but you’re either too lazy or apathetic? I’m not talking about watching a baby get kicked or an old lady get robbed, but something less dramatic. Like yesterday, I full on watched my cocker spaniel eating and swallowing a couple of used Kleenexes (he likes to pull the snot ridden tissues out of the trash – if you ever want to know the difference between humans and dogs just watch a dog eat another dog’s shit or suck on used Kleenexes). So, here’s Lucky, munching away on the Kleenex, and I have the passing thought of, “Oh, I should take those away from him.” But really, the sky wasn’t falling and what was the worst that could happen? Plus, I was eating the remaining half of my bloated Chipotle burrito and watching Oprah making someone’s wildest dream come true. I couldn’t be bothered.

Fast forward to an hour later. My daughter runs in panicked and yelling, “I think Lucky’s going to throw up!” Then, “Ewww..he’s throwing up!!!” Then, “Oh my god, he’s eating it!” (Again dog vs. human. That should be a show, kind of like Man vs. Food).

Definitely one of those mom moments where I realize I should have intervened and this whole mess could have been avoided.  Lesson learned.

And today…my stomach hurts. No, not from eating sugar alcohols. That’s so yesterday. The source is one of three things:

1. Cleaning up Lucky’s puke.
   
   
2. Running Yassos: Like a good and obedient runner, I visited my favorite middle school track as I do every Tuesday to do my speed work. On tap – 7 x 800 Yassos. I’m building up to 10 x 800. After assuring the gym teacher I was not packing heat, only a Garmin and a water bottle, I got started.
   
   I have a love/hate relationship with speed work. I hate how it feels while I’m doing it. All I want to do is stop and lie down and cry. It is so damn taxing. I tend to have a pussy vs. power thing going on:
   
   Pussy: This is hard. I want to stop
   Power: No shit. It’s supposed to be hard. Keep going. A little pain won’t hurt you. The worst that will happen is you’ll throw up. 
   Pussy: I don’t like this. I should be able to be comfortable at all times. I only do things I like.
   Power: Get over yourself. Life is not easy. Getting uncomfortable is how you get strong.
   
   And, so it goes. I love how I feel after doing speed (not the drug but I might feel good after that too). Strong. Competent. Like I really did something.  I also notice a remarkable change in my pace on my normal runs from doing these repeats. Going a few seconds faster seems effortless. 
   
   Today’s results, if you care: 3:31, 3:22, 3:24, 3:30, 3:30, 3:34, 3:33.  If I can do ten of these and keep up a 3:30 average, I should, according to Bart Yasso, be able to run a 3:30 marathon on October 17. Very funny Bart. Are you going to try to sell me a three legged dog who eats Kleenex next? Cause I’m not buyin’.
   
   
3. Visiting Mile Hi Skydiving to Schedule our Jump: Ah yes, this is likely the source of my churning stomach. After the track, I went to the local tiny airport. Ken and I are set to jump at 8:30 a.m. on Sunday. You might remember this was his anniversary gift to me (that and a bat in my crotch).
   
   Just talking and writing about this skydiving mess makes me queasy. 17,500 feet in the air. Jumping.
   
   Here's the thing: I love an adventure and am innately a risk taker (like when I let Lucky eat the Kleenex). I do not, however, enjoy the possibility of dying and orphaning my children. The people at the skydiving place think I am neurotic and I don't care. I told the tandem instructor I didn't want to die. He said he didn’t either. I asked if anyone had ever died. He said, “Yes, but that was a few years ago.” DAMMIT!! Not what I wanted to hear. I asked if he thought I would die. He said, “No.” Very good.
   
   The game plan, because I need some control, is that Ken will go up first and come down. If he makes it I will go. If he doesn’t, I will stay on the ground so my kids have one parent left. I know it’s silly, but I have this lingering and nagging feeling that I am being a “bad” parent by doing this. Yet, there is also this part of me that desperately believes in living fully and taking risks. I also want my kids to see me living fully and taking risks. Since 35,000 people jump per year at this place, I think my odds are PDG (pretty darn good).
   
   As a side note, the instructor said he is not in favor of pushing people out of the plane, but just giving them a little shove. I am slated to have this thing videotaped, so check back on Monday for some entertaining footage.

Enjoy your Tuesday. Season premiers of Glee and Biggest Loser tonight! Think that tough lesbian, Jillian, would jump out of a plane? (Or just yell at you to the get the f*ck out!)

Colorado Marathon Race Report – Part One

I’ll start this lengthy report answering the question on everyone’s mind. Did I mess my pants during the race? The short answer is no, not really. I had a very unexpected squirt at mile 15, but other than that, did not so much as stop at a porta-potty to pee. I know, weird, right? I swear my body did well with the lack of fiber and dairy in the days leading up to the race. Plus, not by my choice, but I was unable to eat the night before the race or morning of. While I wouldn’t recommend this, I think my tummy being empty was key. More details on that later.

I’m going to be honest. Last week sucked. I was all nerves. I could not shake this feeling of almost dread about the race. I was not excited, I was anxious. I wanted to meet my goals so badly that I was putting tons of pressure on myself. I love to run, but my love of running had taken a backseat.

So, Saturday had me on edge. After a good day of distraction with the kids’ soccer game and piano recital we dumped them on my parents and headed up to the expo in Ft. Collins (45 mins away). It was pretty small and dumpy with just a few tables set up in a dark and windowless room. Schwag bag was nothing but one Hammer gel, a too small tech shirt and some coupons. We did get to see Tara and then went to drive some of the marathon course. This lifted my spirits a bit and got me kind of excited even. I mean, who wouldn’t want to run this (It’s the Poudre Canyon. People around here refer to it as the Poudre – pronounced “pooter.” If they are taking a drive in this canyon, they say they are going “up the pooter,” which always make me laugh. How can you say that with a straight face)?     

 

We then headed for home.  I’m such a control freak, I had it all figured out - get take out: buttered noodles with chicken. Go home and eat, have a small glass of wine for the nerves, put bib on shirt, chip on shoe, set coffee maker, lights out by 8:30pm for a 3:00am wake up call.

What’s that saying about God laughing when we make plans? All of my intentions fell to shit when we walked in the door at 7:30 and I took a look at my dog, Lucky. Let me remind you Lucky is not so lucky because he has three legs and a penis that always hangs out. Like lipstick, but much grosser. On this night, Lucky was especially unlucky as his eye was seeping goop and it looked like he had had a stroke. He was clearly in pain and sick.  I took him to a pet ER (never in the eight years we’ve had this dog have I had to do this). I figured it was only 7:30pm, so if the vet quickly took care of the problem, I would be on time for a 9pm bedtime. Six hours of sleep? Perfect.

As the hours ticked by I realized I would not be going anywhere anytime soon. I learned that Lucky needed the eye removed and it would be a late night. I started sobbing. You have to understand. I love my dog, but I’m not someone who is going to sink tons of money into keeping an old dog with a big penis alive. But how can you put a dog down because of a bad eye? And my kids are so attached to this damn dog. And I might be a little attached too.

Emma (at age 3) with her dog, Lucky

The vet must have thought I was especially emotional about my dog losing his eye. After all I was carrying on like Jake from the Bachelor.  Yes, that was part of it. But the other part was that I needed to get to bed for the race, dammit. I considered not doing the marathon. How could I do it on no sleep and all this stress? Finally, I called my friend who is a vet and we decided to give Lucky pain meds and take him home and do the surgery first thing Monday.

I got home at 11:30pm. I had not had my dinner and couldn’t eat it anyway. Lucky had a cone on his head and was high from all the drugs. He was running into everything.  I had a glass of wine and tried to sleep. I got to sleep by midnight. 3am came early and I looked like shit  this:

It was not pretty. I was not pretty. In fact, I was downright stressed and depressed. I felt for sure I would bonk at mile five and run a really slow race. All that training out the window, for nothing. I would be lucky to break my first marathon time of 4:03.

But, here’s where the human spirit perseveres and prevails!! I met Tara at the buses at 4:15am. She was as much of a mess as I was. We were both hoping for a rock slide or avalanche so the race would be called off, but we would not be quitters.  It was a lifesaver having her there on that long bus ride up the canyon. We tried to eat, but there was some dry heaving. The girl behind us threw up. We got off the bus in darkness and both laid down some nuggets in the porta potties. We huddled up for warmth at the start, hugged, cried and started out.

Stay tuned…

My New Party Hat

Running tip: If you're having trouble getting motivated to run, sign up for a race and tell everyone. You'll be much less likely to drop your training plan if you've spent the money and blabbed that you're doing it. Then, if you don't show up, you're poor and a loser.

I’ve got some random thoughts for today. I didn’t want to devote an entire post to any one of these things, so let’s just do some bulleting:

• Before I get all serious, I'll tell you this: son Sam came home from baseball yesterday and promptly put his crotch cup on Lucky’s head. Poor dog. It does make a great party hat! I might wear it to my next social gathering. PTA here I come.

• Running is such a mental game. If you go out to run 18 miles and you are committed to the distance, that’s what you will do. If you go out to run 9 miles the next week you feel like that is only as far as you can go. I think that’s why when people run a half marathon they will sometimes say after the fact: "I could not have gone another 13.1." The point is, it’s about what you set your mind to before you started running. You run differently and think differently for different distances. This is not rocket science and yes, I am stating the obvious, but I thought about this today on my run (here I am getting ready to go. Ignore the mess that is my house ->).

• People who yell at their kids and treat them like shit in public are evil. We all scream at our kids at some point and have moments that wouldn't win us a parent of the year award. But, I’m talking about those parents who are constantly all over their children using a tone that shouldn’t even be used on a disobedient dog. “Put that down! Come over here! Shut your mouth!” Poor kids can’t catch a break. I was in Walgreen’s today and some mom with three little girls was doing this. She ended her tirade by commanding them to “Get in the damn car.” As far as I could tell, the kids were being kids. They weren’t poorly behaved. They were little and acting like little kids act. My thought on this is that if people treat their kids like this in public for all the world to see, my God, what are they doing to these kids in their privacy of their own home? Granted, I don’t know what kind of shit this woman has going on in her life, but it was obvious she was taking it out on those girls. In those moments of treating her kids with absolutely no respect, she is molding their little minds and souls, and not for the better. Made me sick.

• Chelsea Handler is entertaining. Chelsea Handler is funny. Chelsea Handler is also kind of a drunkard and seems pretty angry. The show last night was a decent one if you like the "f" word and making fun of minorities. I loved her poop references and appreciated all of her references to masturbating on the playground when she was eight. But, truthfully, she seemed tired. Almost like she didn’t want to be there. She did not wear this last night ->, nor did she looked this good. She dropped about 39 f-bombs in one minute, including constantly asking, “Can I get a f*cking drink???” I will say, the guy who opened for her, Josh Wolfe was hilarious (go see him if he comes to your town):

• I find it curious and fascinating that some of the most generous people are those that have the least to give. Take for example last night. Some dude who had driven down from Gillette, WY sat by me at the Chelsea Handler show. He was probably in his 20s and a little rough around the edges. I think he worked at a coal mine in WY. At one point he got up to get a drink (you had to walk out of the large theater to do this). He asked if we wanted anything (something most people wouldn’t bother do ask a stranger). I gave him $6.50 for a glass of wine (total freaking rip off). He was gone a LONG time because the drink lines were crazy. When he finally got back he had brought me two glasses of wine and a beer for Ken. Just because it took him so long. Later, he got up again for drinks. Didn’t ask if we wanted anything, but came back with another glass of wine for me and another beer for Ken. In total, he spent $26 on us – just because. I have sat beside hundreds of thousands of people in my life at shows, movies, on airplanes, etc. No one has shown this generosity, least of all some of those wealthy types with the sticks up their asses. I take that back. Last year in Vegas some dude kept giving me $100 chips at the blackjack table if I would stay and gamble with him, but he probably thought I was a prostitute. I actually won a lot of money and he wouldn’t take any of it.

• This made me think a lot about the spirit of giving and generosity. We hold on so tight to what we have sometimes because we are afraid. Afraid there won’t be enough for us. What would happen if we were less fearful and more big hearted?

Woah – me getting all serious on you guys today. Well, life can’t be one big hilarious fart all the time.

How was your weekend and what did you notice?

Drinking: H2O