Muscle Mama

Sundays are my cross-training days and I chose walking since I need to burn off some of this fat I have accumulated around the middle. Even though I jokingly refer to it as my spare tire, or more accurately, my spare 120/70 racing slick, rather than a muffin top, I really hate it. My pants are getting way too tight and fitting into my racing leathers without risk of busting a seam on the backside is starting to look iffy. I almost freaked out when I stepped on the scale the other day and found the digits accusingly close to the Moo Zone. Gag me with a spoon, dude. Something needs to be done. After all, I have to haul this extra junk in my trunk around on my runs. I need to get back to my trim 115. Make it 113 and I won’t crash this season. 😉 Because, I am supersticilious.

A good friend texted me today, wondering if I would go walking with her, since she too has decided that buying bigger pants is not an option. I let my friend set the pace and we spent the next hour taking a somewhat indirect route from my house to hers. Later GPS mapping reveals we walked approximately 2.93 miles. I only cover four miles when I’m walking by myself. Not too shabby for her first walk in years.

We covered some familiar running territory and I noticed to my absolute amazement that this is effortless. Hills that only a few weeks ago would have set my thighs ablaze and had my calf muscles screaming bloody murder almost felt flat. My breathing was relaxed and my heart calm. This was almost a Zen-like experience. I enjoyed being with my friend, even though it seemed I did most of the talking after a while. Only 18 runs totaling 63 miles in the past two months and suddenly I feel like Super Woman?

I can’t wait to see how I feel throwing the R1 around the race track this weekend. A 15-minute track session usually has me returning to the pits huffing and puffing like a chain smoker with asthma and my legs feeling like gelatin during an earthquake. Jiggle, wiggle. Boom. Fall down.

I feel strangely motivated.

We’re going to do this again tomorrow evening. I can’t wait. This walking thing is way more fun with a friend.

Miss Busa after her second 7-mile run

See Busa. See Busa run 6 mph. See Busa run seven miles. Run, Busa, run. See Busa go boom. Fall down. Not pretty.

4 Comments on “Muscle Mama”

  1. Your hubby says:

    You go! (I’ll watch)

  2. john says:

    WHAT ? ZEN ???? did i hear you say ZEN ??? what a fruitcake you’re turnin into ….

    Crank it out !! One more rep !! one more mile !! C’mon -no pain no gain !! Hup two three four – hup two three four – C’mon girl , straighten up there , fall in line …. Suck it up !! To the left – to the left – to the left right left !!!

    • Miss Busa says:

      Insanity. Pure and simple. I feel a little fruity… yes. Uh-huh. But if it makes me faster, I won’t complain. No. And maybe, given enough time, I will develop some sort of fitness version of the Stockholm Syndrome and actually get used to the abuse and find it reasonable. But my left knee is probably going to sue me for rape…

  3. Dandooligan says:

    Great story, but fantastic caption!

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