Runners High?

I am not nearly as in love with running as I am with biking. I wish I was.

I don't necessarily find biking 'easy', because it's not easy when you're riding for 2 - 4 hours. But it does remind me of being a kid again, and I feel incredibly free when I am out there, riding along, with the wind in my hair.
And at the same time, I am not finding running terribly 'hard'. I just don't LOVE it.

But I am learning, and I am practicing. And I am self-motivated enough to try and increase my time, and my goals along the way. My end goal is to run the 5km Army Run in Ottawa on September 19th, 2010.
Last year, I walked it. In less than an hour, and it hurt like hell. This year, I will jog it, and I know it won't hurt like hell.

I hear people talk all the time about "Runners High". And I keep asking them what that is, how do you know you have hit it? Do you feel different? Is it in your head? or in your body? Does it feel the same as when you eat "special brownies"? Will I crave snacks from this high? ;)

I get varied replies when I pummel people with these questions. And I am now, and always have been, in complete awe of people who run. They run because they love it. Not because anyone is chasing them. And they run half marathons and full marathons, and they take part in triathalons! Again, they do it because they love it. Isn't that insane!? ;)

To me, meeting someone who runs is as good as meeting my favourite rock star. I'm a dork like that.

Here is what I am finding for myself, though. I don't know that I get "Runners High" as much as I get "Runners Pride". I think that people who are career, or lifetime runners may not ever fully understand what I am talking about - but anyone who at any point was unable to run, will get this.

Imagine recovering from major hip surgery. Or imagine being so overweight that you simply cannot run. Not even for a minute. You can't do it. You are out of breath, and your joints ache so badly that you have no choice but to stop. How defeated I used to feel...
And now imagine yourself digging really deeply to find the courage and perseverance to start putting one foot in front of the other, and pick up the pace to a slow but actual! jog!

When I walked the Army Run 5km last year, I shot my big mouth off and said that I would run it this year. And if there is one thing I can be known for, it's being a "doer". If I say I am going to do it, then God Damn it, I'll do it. Or die trying.

That's just the way I roll, folks.

And so here we are... August 5th, with just 6 weeks left before the Army Run 2010 on September 19th. I am *almost* ready! I have my very own personal cheerleader, Feather, running slowly beside me, and we are up to 25 minutes now.

We have a plan. We have a goal. We will accomplish.

And the sense of PRIDE I am getting from doing these runs with Feather beside me!?!? Once again beats out any effing chicken wing I have ever eaten in my whole life!

I won't ever take for granted again the fact that I have the ability to walk, dance, bike, and run if I choose to. Not when there are so many people out there who cannot do these things for various reasons. And definitely not when I run alongside so many soldiers on September 19th who have sustained extensive injuries while protecting my freedom.


I hope that you're having an awesome day!

Thank you Air Canada.

I am partly ashamed to admit this, but find it somewhat humourous and hard to keep to myself. Anyone who has ever carried a lot of extra weight will identify with the subject I am about to crack the lid on. Yes, I am calling all of us out on our hidden little secrets. Baring them for all to see... if only to shed light, educate, and hopefully provide a wee giggle...

You know what sucks? Traveling when you are overweight sucks. It's uncomfortable, it's sweaty, and it's downright embarrassing. Yes, you're excited to go on your trip, and visit with your friends or the obligatory family members who will be picking you up when you touchdown. But the underlying stress of line-ups, and delays - combined with the biggest aggravation of all - the damned seats!, oftentimes makes it more stressful than enjoyable.

Let's face it, just like concert halls and stadiums, airplanes are built for maximum capacity. NOT maximum comfort. They squish us in like sardines in a can, and we're responsible for maintaining the plasma flow in our extremities to avoid clots and heart attacks while sitting next to Drooling Dan and Snoring Sarah.
Add to all of that, the humiliation of having to ask for an extender for your seatbelt as you enter this squishy hunk of metal, so that you're belted in securely as you hurtle through the air at 35 000 feet, and you have just received the ultimate icing on that cupcake you shouldn't have scarfed down before the last boarding call was announced.

So let me tell you what I did. I stole one. Yep. To avoid that moment of humiliation, I stole a seatbelt extender from Air Canada a few years ago.
I had to. I just couldn't do it anymore. I knew I was outgrowing their belts, and Christ knows I was squished into their seats, and I just couldn't face having to ask another freaking Airline Steward (is that what they're called these days? or is it Server in the Sky?) for a stupid extension for my stupid seatbelt, to keep me safely in my stupid seat. *grumble grumble*

I blog about this, because this exact topic of conversation came up today between myself and a girlfriend who has lost and gained weight her entire life. We had a good laugh about it, and I thought that surely to God there are other people out there who can identify with this, and maybe this will help spare some poor soul the embarrassment of having to admit that regular seatbelts just don't fit you anymore. Take my advice, steal one. Christ knows you paid enough for that plane ticket anyways...

Or shoot me an email, and I will send you mine! Or maybe I will write a letter to Air Canada and send it back to them... who knows...

In any case, I hope that you are having an AWESOME day!

The. Insufferable. Heat.

Jesus Mary and Joseph. I am just a girl from The Rock. I might have experienced a temperature range of 50 degrees in my life - on rare occasions it will be minus 20 in Newfoundland, and even more rarely, it will reach plus 30.

I remember when I moved to Ottawa in August of 2001. I had to stay a month in Montreal for "training" before making the final move to Canada's Capital.

Good God, The. HEAT. I remember my first 2 weeks away from home were spent mostly trying to wipe sweat off my forehead, peel clothes away from my skin, and somehow try to make my hair look presentable.
None of which was easy, all of which made me CRANKY. Oh, and whiny. I will admit that I am just like a spoiled little girl sometimes and become a serious whiner.

Here we are, almost 9 years later, and we are having another disgusting heat wave. And I am just going to state for the record right now, that I would much rather it be minus 40, than it be plus 40. I realize that I am in the minority here, and that I will catch much flack for this, but it's part of who I am, part of my charm, and I don't care what anyone else says or thinks. :)

This heat is disgusting. There. I said it. It's out there, and I am sticking to it. As well as sticking to the bench at the pub, the seat in the car, and my friends leather sofa.

Rant over.

Have an awesome day everyone!

Less Beach Ball. More Curves.

In case you didn't know this about me, or hadn't figured it out yet... I have been a big girl my whole life. I have flucuated between big, to fat, to huge. And I am now in the process of losing that extra poundage once and for all.

So far, 90lbs since last August. My goal? To have lost 100 in a year. I now have 5 weeks to lose 10 pounds to reach that goal. :) I was nervous about my ability to get there before, but I am totally confident now that I can, and WILL, do this. And I will not stop at 100. I will continue on until I find the set weight that is comfortable for me... I am thinking another 50-ish, possibly more. I will know when I get there.

So, along the way, I have set wee little goals and challenges for myself. Like last weekend, when I biked 50km in one shot? That was just to see if I could do it. And to see me riding my bike down the street with tears streaming down my face, you would think I had just been handed an Olympic Gold Medal. To me, it's the same feeling of pride and joy.

At least, I imagine it to be the same as the way Olympic athletes feel proud of their accomplishments. :)

Last week, I came to work and felt like I looked pretty cute. I had on a really pretty hand-me-down lingerie style tank, with a nice blazer/jacket over it, kick ass boots and dark jeans. One of my girlfriends called me over in the cafeteria to say "You look really cute today, but those jeans!?!? Hideous on you! They are too big and you need to never wear them again."

I had no idea. Can you imagine that for yourself, or is it just me? I honestly have no clue what size I am compared to others, or how I really look in the clothes I wear. I still struggle with my own image a great deal.

Sooooooo...I set out shopping last Saturday with my darling girlfriend, Feather, who is HUGELY inspirational to me, and more helpful and supportive than almost anyone else in my life. We get to the plus size store I have shopped in since I was in my early teens, and I find out that the style jeans I was wearing has been discontinued. My reaction? "WHAT!?!!? You can't do that to me!!! Don't you know that my only guage of what size I am now, is this exact style of jeans!? If I have to switch styles, there is no way I will fit into an 18." I was devastated. But Feather held firm, and told me to pick up all the jeans I liked, in size 18 and get in the change room.

I have never been a size 18. Not in my adult life. And if I was an 18 prior to that? I don't remember....
Maybe, MAYBE in early highschool!? I have blocked most of that out, so I honestly can't tell you what size or weight I was back then. I didn't care, to be honest...

Anyways, first pair? Meh - yucky cut. I wouldn't even pull them all the way up.

Second pair? Same thing.

I can tell if I am going to like a pair of jeans before I even get them to my knees.

THIRD PAIR!?!? Holy F*CK. I am pulling them up. So far, so good. Jesus. I can do the buttons up. AND the freaking zipper!!! Sweet suffering Christ. They. Fit. These size 18 different brand and style jeans fit. me.

I open the door to the change room and Feather's jaw drops. She runs to grab me a cuter shirt to put on with them, and low and behold, I turn around, look in the mirror and proceed to burst into tears.
I swear to you, I hugged Feather so hard that I could have knocked her right over. I didn't want to let go.

For the first time since I started this on August 13th 2009 (after my lightbulb moment on August 9th, I joined Weight Watchers on the 13th), I can see what everyone else has been saying to me. I can see the change. I am not a beach ball anymore.

I. Have. Curves!!!

Me!!! With!!! Curves!!!

I curve in at the waist. I now go out at the hips. And miraculously, I have mostly kept my boobs in tact!!! (sidenote: if I ever were to lose my boobs, I swear to you, I will get them enhanced)

I am not the beachball I was a year ago. I am no longer the out-of-breath, achy, lazy and unhealthy girl that somehow found the will and the courage to start this journey.

And I can tell you right now, that moment beats out even the very best 2-4-1 Wing Night, or any double cheese pizza or bag of sour cream and onion chips that I have ever had in my whole entire life.

I am working on being as proud of myself as others are... and that moment was a great start.

I hope that your day is awesome!