Category Archives: Fitness

26 Point 2: Chicago Bound

It has taken me a minute to actually write this down. It has actually taken a moment for it to sink in (which it still hasn’t just yet). On October 11, 2015 I will be running (or crawling…whatever) 26.2 miles through Chicago (or as The Boy likes to say Chiraq). I get butterflies just thinking about it.

I applied for the Chicago Marathon lottery on a whim. Who ever really gets picked for that anyway? Well, obviously people do or else there wouldn’t be a race, but you know what I mean: I would never get picked for that anyway. But…I did.

Because I got picked (Brooklyn did too btw), I certainly cannot turn it down. Why would anyone do that? It is the Chicago Marathon after all. From what I heard it is a great first marathon, it is a beautiful run and it’s Chicago. I have never been there. I get to experience something new.

So, I paid for the registration, bought a plane ticket, booked a hotel and started marathon training via Nike+ on Tuesday. Will I make it? I dunno. I’m damn sure gonna try though. Why not? Besides, I also have the Rock n’ Roll Savannah Marathon in November and the Peachtree in July so I have to start seriously training anyway. Might as well throw another race on the barbee.

Hi, I am Sadie, and I am running the 2015 Chicago Marathon. Yes…on purpose. Yes that is 26.2 miles. Yes…I think I am a little crazy 😛

~SM

Warning! Warning! Undies Are Rolling Down Yo’ Belly

Picture it: Black leggings, black knee high leather boots, black sweater, make-up on, lips glossed….undies rolling. It has happened to me plenty of times. I look fab and feel fab only to have my underwear slowly roll down my belly and slip to a stop under the gut. Can you say mood ruin-er?

This, ladies, is a warning. Your undies are saying “warning! warning! your ass is getting fat!” Any time your undergarments start oozing out flesh or wedging in uncomfy places or rolling down your gut, this is a warning that you are, indeed, getting fatter. So…here…I will admit that I am getting fatter.

I have been training for the Tri for a few of months. I cannot say I can actually complete it with out dying, but I can say my body is more than ready for better nutrition. Young Gun threw down the weight loss gauntlet a few weeks ago and he’s already getting slimmer (in the waist anyway–and currently I hate him so hard right now). Over the past few days I have laid on Mommy’s couch eating cake for breakfast and cookies for lunch. I am deathly afraid of stepping on that scale, but I have got to put my too-small-for-me big girl panties on and hop to it.

No more games (yes…I have muttered those words before). No more excuses (yup…those too). No more slipping and getting lazy (mmhm…this too). Not only do I have a triathlon to finish training for, but I also have a marathon to train for and a friggin weight loss challenge with a young cat to complete. I have no more room for failure. Besides…I am sick of rolling up my underwear.

I will do what I have to do. Eat what I have to eat. Run what I have to run. Lift what I have to lift. I will get to wherever my body wants to take me. The pressure I feel is good pressure. I’m not worried. I am, however, a little annoyed that Young Gun is trying to beat me. There is no way I can let him win…him or my underwear…

~SM 

Crazy Is And Crazy Does….Literally

We have discussed Brooklyn and her many, many ridiculously crazy ideas. We have also discussed how I manage to suck my own stupid self in to her many, many ridiculously crazy ideas. This particular idea might not be extremely crazy (unlike some of the other ones she has presented), but to me it is just insane enough to have me shook.

Running. I love it. The other day I was in need of some free thought space and I strapped on my tennis shoes and high-tailed it out of the office. I pounded the treadmill until my body hurt. It is abuse, I am almost positive. Running is my way of escape. It is what brings the world back into focus. When I run, I am free….but…err…that run lasts about 45 minutes and on a good day that freedom equals 3 miles. Never, ever in a million years did I think that freedom would equal 26.2 miles on purpose.

Yes, I said it. 26.2 miles. No, that is not a typo. That number represents the amount of miles my size 10’s will travel in November 2015. Even typing it is giving me gas (or perhaps it is just the morning coffee talking). What the hell did I just do??? Am I nuts?! Yea, I would say so.

I am already training for the Iron Man 70.3 in September 2015 (I am pretty sure I won’t make the May 2015 race) so I suppose I could just add extra umph to accommodate for the 26.2 in November. The extra work is not what is catching me in the gassy throws of fear–it is the actual task of completing the race. Tattoo my face? Let’s get it. Sky dive? Hell yes! Lay down in a bed of snakes? Sure, why not. Rely on my 35 (well…36 at race time) year old body to carry _____ pounds for 7-8 constant, pavement pounding hours? Yea, no, I am certainly not feeling that one.

What is done is done. I suppose I can’t or won’t spend my time going down the long list of worries spinning around in my head. I will just focus on getting it done. I will focus on staying healthy so I can make it through. I will focus on the positive aspects of going balls to the wall crazy with Crazy (aka Brooklyn). Not everyone can pull that kind of challenge off. Not every 252 lb woman can push her body and her spirit to complete that particular task. Not everyone can do crazy….but crazy is and crazy does.

~SM

Farewell To The Weighting Game

This morning I stood on the scale in the dim light of the dawn. I stopped worrying about the number a few weeks ago–not really caring what it said as long as I could run a mile without having a heart attack. The art of being a thick chick/fat chick/pleasantly plump chick/curvy chick/plus size chick/chunky chick has never been lost on me. Wake up, weigh, gasp, write out a plan, work the plan, drop weight, get lazy (or injured….or depressed….or divorced), gain it all back and repeat. Only now, possibly from 35 year old wisdom, I don’t really care.

I have been on that scale before and it has read anywhere between 287 to 235. I have scoffed at myself in the mirror, I have danced around in the bathroom naked in celebration, I have shrugged off the lack of change. The experience is always different, yet it is always the same. Judgement. Self-judgement…the worse kind.

I have noticed a change in my body, but not so much on the scale. For once…I am okay with that. I no longer put off buying clothes for the sake of the smaller me. I no longer really care if my stomach ever shrinks enough so I can at least see my vagina (yea…we lost touch about, oh, i dunno–13 years ago). I no longer care about the flabby arm hang or the jiggly thighs. The double chin doesn’t really concern me either. I am no longer in the need to impress others–which includes the stuck-in-the-145lb-past part of me. I am just in it to live. And, after all, that is the goal….right?

~SM

Falling Into The Run Away

After an argument with The He one Saturday afternoon, I began to experience a myriad of feelings…none of which were good. More and more these days, when I feel engulfed in those emotions of raw anger, bitterness, sadness and temper tantrum I often feel as if I am drowning…literally. Breath becomes shallow or non existent and I feel panicky. Trapped by water on all sides and there’s no way out. Except……maybe one.

In school, I hated running. In middle school particularly. Every Monday we would slip into our black shorts and gray tees and take it to the track. Four laps equaled a mile….and a straw. The objective was to get (4) straws. I usually got (2). I hated running. Fast forward to the glorious days of short skirts, go-go boots, and flag poles. We had to run and I hated that too. Super fast forward to September 2010 when my spirit was ill and apparently my marriage was too. I decided to step outside of normal and take on a challenge in which I could only make waves. I was going to run.

Running soon became that thing. You know, that thing you do when the world is closing in? It shuts the world out and turns the volume down. It creates a space no one else can enter, even if there are hundreds of people around. It’s….that thing.

Running is that thing for me. So often I feel panicky and breathless and so often I picture myself pounding the pavement. On Saturday, I did just that. I pictured myself running. Running far. Running steady. Running….away.

When I vented to Trinidad about the argument (which I sorta can’t remember now), we began talking about what made us feel stronger, calmer, capable, confident. Running does it all for me. I suffer from sadness–a pretty deep sadness on most days–but when I run…it lifts. The clouds part and the world is right again. I can see why people become addicted. I can see why people spend hours and money to do something that takes it’s toll on the body later. It’s that thing. It’s that thing to grab for…to fall for…to chase….

~SM

Tri-ing to Feel Alive

Yup…tri as in triangle or tricycle or, in this case triathlon. Divorce, baby daddy’s, bad decisions, and being a little light in the pocket can lead to big wishes and even bigger leaps. Ohhhhh boy…I think I am just about to make a humongous leap.

This conversation is not really that new. I tend to have it often…once a year it seems. I get this really huge idea, post it, blog it, blab about it and there is a 50/50 chance it materializes. Kinda sucks for me…makes me look a little loony. This time, however, is going to be different…it has to be different.

Crossroads sorta suck. Being stuck at one sucks even worse than actually coming to one, noticing it and passing by. When you seem stuck in transition and at a crossroad, crazy shit turns into amazing ideas and you begin to make foolish, rush decisions to evoke some type of feeling.  Joy. Fear. Curiosity. Happiness. Pride. Rage. Accomplishment…whatever the outcome of the crazy, you like it…you need.

This decision may be induced by the feeling of wanting to actually feel alive again…alive for Sadie May not for others. There’s a difference, you know. Being and feeling alive for self is different than being and feeling alive for your children/spouse/parents/siblings. There is a confidence that comes with it–you walk differently, talk differently, love differently. Suddenly the air is sweeter and the world is yours for the taking. No one can compare to you. Youarethebest. You live and breathe a world full of chances and choices that bring a special kind of excitement and wonder into your life and it spills over into the lives of those around you and suddenly you feel the vibration of life beneath your feet and you become…unstoppable. No dream too big. No mountain too high. No crazy idea unearthed…you are alive.  I am chasing the alive. I am chasing that alive.

There was a moment, recently, when I tasted it and it happened when I crossed the finish line of the Peachtree Road Race, having run the entire 6.2 miles. Nothing was going right at home, the energy was off and apparently my husband had stopped loving me at that point. All of the confusion, all of the pain, all of the hurt, all of the stress I poured into the push and I conquered demons, monsters, and the 6.2 miles. When the finish line came into view I broke down into tears–salty streaks of emotion mixing with the sweat of the heavy I carried the entire race. Something broke inside of me at that moment. I tasted what I could do if I allowed myself to give into the push.  If I moved past the flesh and pain. Iwasalive. I was alive.

There are plenty of ways I can touch that feeling again, but this is the one way I plan on reaching it and never letting it go. I plan on leaving the mistress, the divorce, the brokenness, the hurt, the despair, the failure, the selfishness, the disbelief, the stupidity, the bitterness, the anger, the arguments, the dependency, the arrogance, the lack and the allowed disrespect behind for good. I plan on rising above all I thought I knew and who I thought I was–who I made myself out to be and giving into the push. I will run my way past pain, swim my way past what was, and bike my way to something–someone–better.  Yup…I am going to give it a tri no matter what I have to sacrifice. I am going to tri…and I will succeed.

~SM

Feed the Warrior

We all have one, right? She’s in there. You feel her in the boardroom and you feel her at the PTA meeting.  She is apart of your every day.  Some of us know how to feed her while others of us (raises hand slowly) are just standing by, nervously, watching her starve to death.

I gotta be honest here and tell you that I think my warrior is on her death bed. The doctor came by and told me to just shut off the machines because it was pointless (sad face). However, being the stubborn kinda girl I am, I refuse to do so because I know how strong she can be.

My chick has been waiting. Can you imagine a wild animal tearing at the bars of its cage? Welp…that’s my girl.  She’s ruthless. She’s cut throat. And she’s hungry. She feeds off of words like “can’t” “you will never” “they are better than you”.  I killed her, I think.  I killed her because I thought as a wife and mother  I was suppose to–she’s selfish and there’s no room for selfish when you are raising a family. Everyone’s needs must come before your own…right? There is no room for ruthless and cut throat. There is only room for cupcakes, PTA meetings, late night sex, and marital forgiveness. There is no room for f-u’s and hair over diapers. There is no room for me over everyone else–that is not the balance. The balance is emptying out her to allow more room for them.  There is only room for diagnosis of death and the unplugging of the machines.

She stayed down as long as she could, but with my current circumstances being what they are she’s raring and ready to go.  The only way I know to fuel her is through sweat…and blood…and tears…literally.  I work well under physical pressure, which is exactly what I plan to do. Train for a marathon? Bring it.  Do a Tri? I eat pain for breakfast.  Lift heavy? I’m on it.  Run Disney? I’m in it. I’m ready. She’s ready. Let the games begin…