Mini marathon. Check!

When 2009 started, I put together a little list of things I wanted to accomplish this year. One of those was the Kentucky Derby Festival Mini Marathon. It is 13.1 miles and let me tell you, there is nothing mini about it. Before the race, Kerri suggested that I document the race with a little video diary. I'll never be a film maker like Heidi the crafty yodeler, but if you are wondering how I held up, take a look.

Ah crap! I'm over 30

When I was in college, one of my favorite songs had the lyrics "I can still remember when 30 was old." In my mid-twenties, I embraced the thought of passing the big three-oh. I laughed at my petty peers who looked at aging like "the end."

Well, it came and went and I thought I was handling it pretty well. I didn't fear crow's feet or not being able to wear funky styles. I was happy to leave the luxury of youth and replace it with stability, security and a true sense of self.

I am taking care of myself more than ever and have even been sticking to this whole exercise thing. Then it happened. My body turned on me. Apparently, even if I ignore the sands of time, my body refuses to.

The first thing to go was my blood pressure. At a dentist's appointment, I discovered I have high blood pressure. At 29, I was fine. Today, not fine. What changed?

My hormones slowly found a way to drive me insane. Spots on my face. Mood swings. Body temperature problems. The list really goes on and on for this one.

Now that I have been exercising, I don't actually lose weight like I did when I was a teen. Nope. All the stuff just moves around and instead of my skin snapping back, it sags into little rolls making my naked body look more like a melted candle than human.

Despite my best efforts, my gums are receding. Oh yeah, long in the tooth, party of one.

I can't stay up past midnight if I try, but on "school nights" I can't sleep, so I toss and turn all night long.

I finally know why people don't want to age. It has less to do with vanity and more to do with facing the reality that I may be putting my bra on around my waist in 10 years.

I have found true sense of self. I am bitchy, saggy, hot, cold, spotted insomniac with hypertension. Pass me an effing cookie.

Never say Never

Back when I was a news producer, I remember covering the races. I would nestled down into my comfy control room chair and say "you will NEVER see me getting up early to run 10 miles!"

You get where I'm going with this? This weekend, I broke another "I'll never." It was the Papa John's 10-miler. I actually didn't pay and was a rogue walker. I'm such a rebel. Holla.

There was no running involved. Harris Bueller was my walking partner for 10 grueling miles. He is quite a bit taller with his legs beginning a good 14 inches before mine. He was sans toenail due to an unfortunate moving accident a week or two ago. Despite his injury, he kept a brisk pace and worked my little Polipino stems all I could to keep up.

Moral of this story: I'm a big ol liar face. I wonder what my next "I'll never" will be on the chopping block. I'm hoping Check us out at the finish line.

My Hero

Everyone needs someone to call hero. This dude is mine.

The Smell of Anticipation and Fear

Tonight, the smell of anticipation and fear fill the air. That and the lasagna I have cooking. The 10-miler is this weekend and I'm not ashamed to say that I am a bit scared. I've been training, but I've always ducked out of the runs that were longer than 10 miles for some reason or another.

I'm actually a rogue walker. That means I didn't pay an entry fee and don't intend to, so neener. I would actually duck out of this weekend, but as I have said before, my friends are relentless and won't let me rest. I've made all my excuses, and they are not having it. Bitches. Yeah, I said it. Relentless bitches.

I'll be accompanied by Harris Bueller who is recently recovering from slicing his toenail off with a piano. I told him you don't play it that way, but no one ever listens to the Polipino.

Tonight, the husband and I will be braving the 35 degree weather to get in three miles together. He hasn't really been training and I'm a little worried that he is going to have trouble with the Mini Marathon. He walks constantly for his job, which may be what ends of saving him.

No One Likes a Quitter

I'm a quitter. A totally quit-miester. A big ol' quitter face.

No worries though, as I am not sad. I am officially an EX-member of my gym. I have to say, I have done more exercising with my workout group since October than I have done in the 5+ years I belonged to a gym.

I was a bit nervous as gyms have a tendency to make you feel bad when quitting. They give you the disappointed eyes. The sighs that really say "so you want to be a big, dopey, unmotivated loser, eh?" At the end, you usually end the session with signing a new contract with a promise to yourself and them that you will come and work out more. We all know, this lasts for about a week.

This time I was prepared. I knew I was not giving up on my heath or exercise. I was giving up a $35 monthly charge for a place I visited on occasion. I used to hate exercising outside, and now the thought of being on a treadmill for 5 miles makes me ill. I am done.

I met with the manager and told him I was quitting for financial reasons. In this economy, it isn't far from the truth. Honestly, in any economy, wasting money on that every month is just silly.

Tah dah. Just check me out, all Quitty McQuitterton.