I’m Too Old For This!

We’ve all heard the expression: “I’m too old for this shit!” A few of us loudly proclaim our belief in the principle on occasion, but keep on keeping on. Some of us think it and quietly give up. Then there are some who use it as an excuse not to even start.

The subject of wether or not I’m too old to pound my body into submission and shape myself into an athlete by brute-force methodology has crossed my mind on more than a few occasions. My body is threatening mutiny, or so it seems. However, my mind has been known for its propensity of cracking the whip to quell the whining and the whimpering when the mission is deemed critical and worthy.

My husband’s view on the way I approach things? He just shakes his head and exclaims:

“Damn, baby! You never do anything half-assed, do you? You can’t help yourself!”

Even though my fervor must get on his nerves on occasion, I do believe he is sitting back, smugly, big shit-eating grin on his overly satisfied face, arms crossed at the chest, nodding and thinking to himself:

“Yeah, that’s my baby!”

He brags to his friends and co-workers. I know he does. Where others whip out their wallets (mobile phones) in one smooth and snappy movement to accost you with an array of baby pics and family portraits, he whips out his track photography. I think he has more pictures of me dragging knee on his phone than I do. That’s pretty bad. Where the wives (girlfriends) of others are gorgeous in their perfect hair and flawless makeup, he runs around flashing people with my sweaty helmet hair and unpainted countenance in dirty leathers.

He says I’m not like most 40 year-olds. But I don’t buy it. I feel too old for my own good on most days; and where I used to look ten years younger, frequent exposure to the elements and a high-stress work environment have finally taken their toll. I now am starting to look about as old as I feel. My crow’s feet alone could probably get me some premature social security benefits, if they didn’t check their paperwork. ๐Ÿ˜‰

At least we don’t get the “so nice of you to take your daughter out” comments anymore. That was always a hoot, since hubby usually responded to those remarks with laying a fat slobbery kiss on me a few minutes later, after failing to correct the erroneous assumption. What a nut job! That’s why I don’t take him out in public very often… *giggles*

But there are a few individuals who defy the “life is over after 40” rule and they give me the drive to keep on going. Because a midlife crisis, after all, is a terrible thing to waste. =D

I almost didn’t start racing when I first got the notion and excitedly and very loudly exclaimed, while my nose was buried in Keith Code’s bookย A Twist of the Wrist: “Hell yeah! I wanna do THAT!” I’m glad I was on weekend duty and alone in the office. After the initial excitement wore off and my brain had time to process all of the information, it responded with an unkindlyย “I’m too old for this shit!” and that was the end of it for about a year or so.

A guy at work, who is a few years my junior, found out that I had crashed on my second race weekend and ended my first season prematurely, decided that he should save me from myself and told me the following: “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you’re too old to race. You crash and your body takes forever to heal and your injuries are probably going to be more severe. That’s probably also why you’re slow. You’re afraid to go fast.”

[Note: I only sustained minor injuries to my left hand due to my glove failing. The season ended prematurely because it took a little over three months and most of my saved up money to repair my bike, and it was decided it was best to prepare to race a full season in 2012, with a dedicated race bike and a lot more cash saved up.]

Excuse me?!?ย Dude, you better thank your lucky stars that we’re at work, because if you had said that to me anywhere else, I would have put you in your place, you presumptuous little prick! And then raced your cruiser riding ass for pinks. In first gear, with one hand. Asshole!

He stopped riding sport bikes (“crotch rockets” is the term he actually used) because he, by his own admission, was “too old for this shit” and had crashed and it took him forever to heal.

The reason I started racing, despite my misgivings about starting so late in life and only having been riding motorcycles on the street for a little over two years? Burt Munro. The old fart showed Bonneville how old timers roll, and he didn’t even pre-register. ๐Ÿ˜‰ He bet “the farm” on his dream and it paid off. Against all odds, with plenty of obstacles and no sponsors. Yeah! He’s still my hero.

Read up on him sometime or watch the movie ‘The World’s Fastest Indian’. Very inspiring story, even if you are not into racing. His story transcends the sport. It’s a testament to the fact that “I’m too old for this shit!” is just another fallacy we’ve been brainwashed with by the media, societal norms and rate-of-return expectations. Youth is wasted on the young. Whoever said that, they have it pegged.

I ran into a man of the “over-the-hill type” at my inaugural WERA race. He’s freaking awesome. I think he said he started racing when he was 67 and that was a few years back. But don’t quote me on his exact age. The man is my hero. He doesn’t know it, but I secretly look up to him. He’s having fun doing what he does, has a wicked sense of humor, and he’s fast.

My “sister in speed”, whom I met during a racing school we both attended, just shrugged when she first heard how old I was and said: “You’re just a baby.” She doesn’t look it, but she’s ten years my senior. And crashing does not slow her down a bit. She’s having fun, too.

There are many other people to whom I look up to, who defy the norm. People who do in spite of it all. Did you know there is a dude who races motorcycles and only has one arm?!? I didn’t know it was possible. I saw him at Barber, while I was walking to the race control building he was making his way onto pit road to go on track. I did a double take, shaking my head because I thought I was hallucinating, and then did a triumphant fist pump in his direction. He didn’t see me, because he had already passed the spot where I was standing to let traffic through. Yeah, get a load of THAT. That’s what I call passion! That’s what I call drive and determination. Freakin’ awesome. I still don’t know who he is, but there are a number of amputees still riding and racing motorcycles. Still think you’re too old, too disabled, too whatever?

Today I am researching a few topics of interest on running and come across an article that talks about fears first time road racers have. One of which is also a very real fear for first time motorcycle road racers: the fear of coming in last. It takes one race to get over that silliness. ๐Ÿ™‚ But I digress. One of the items listed was the fear of being too old to run, let alone enter an official road race. The article ended with:

“You’re never too old to start running, and it’s definitely never too late to start road racing.”

And that is the truth.

Obstacles are placed in our way to test our resolve, our determination, our passion, and our will to succeed. I can’t do nothing about my chronological age; but I can work on being in the best shape of my life and not let my age stop me from achieving my goals. My age also can’t keep me from dreaming!

And as the clock keeps ticking away, forcing me to grow even older than “too old for this shit”, I still try and retain my inner peace and happiness while I’m waiting for my turn again.

Three basic ingredients are needed for sustained happiness:

  1. Something to do.
  2. Something to look forward to.
  3. Somebody to love.

I have lost my main “to do” four months ago, but I am keeping busy with my marathon training and writing, to keep the depression and anxiety at bay.

I am looking forward to racing my motorcycle again, which will happen once I have secured re-employment and have regained a positive cash flow and met my other financial responsibilities. 2013 could be my year and I have to be ready, mentally and physically.

I have the third item covered in spades. No, make that hearts, even though it is not the trump suit, it works better in a literary sense.

Squatters Challenge: Day 1

Just thought I’d record my impressions of my first prescribed workout of what I have come to call the Squatters Challenge.

Overhead Squats: Holy crap on a stick! These babies have most of my back, shoulder blades and everything working. I can still feel muscles back there I didn’t know I had, like (brace for Anatomy 101 Google style) upper- and mid-trapezius, that neck tendon in there (levator scapulae), and deltoids, too. And my upper thighs (quadriceps) are on fire like they are after about 9 laps at Barber! Good grief. Dude Who Runs Downhill wasn’t lying about the effectiveness of this exercise.

Snatch Lifts: These really didn’t do anything for me, other than make me sweat and bring my heart rate up, but maybe that’s the point. What made me feel silly was the “snatching” of just a bar without added weights. This thing weighs only (*goes to bathroom to step on the scale with it*) sixteen pounds. Sorry, they were all out of Olympic bars (those 7-foot 45-pound jobs) unless I wanted a stack of weights to go with them. ๐Ÿ˜ฆ Makes me think if I wasn’t supposed to make up the difference with plates on the ends… Hmmmm, Dude Who Runs Downhill never specified. I’m sure a nice, slightly bent out of true, one-incher is just what was ordered, not to mention in my price range. ๐Ÿ˜‰

High Pulls: Same as the snatch lifts, I felt a little “underpowered” if you will. Gets the heart pumping, but I did feel the la petite burn in the shoulders (anterior deltoids) and the back of the upper arms (triceps), extending slightly into the forearms.

Good Morning Exercise: Just like Michelle said in the video. Lower back, glutes and ham strings. Bum and thighs all the way around. I actually liked this exercise the best; but it seems that out of these four, the overhead squats are probably the most beneficial to me.

And what in the world is happening with my ankle?!? I haven’t run in two days and at some point today, while parked on the couch no less, I notice that my right ankle is hurting. I haven’t done anything to it. Oh well, it’s not my shift foot, so I’ll wrap that puppy up in an ace bandage tomorrow and put about three miles on it. I’m not starting my scheduled marathon training skipping out or doing less. End of story.

How does my friend Margie put it? “Racers play hurt.” Or maybe it’s just us, being old and frail and slow, with no choice but to play hurt or otherwise we don’t get to play at all. A midlife crisis is such a terrible thing to waste. =D We make up for our lack of youthful springiness with a sick sense of humor, massive horsepower, and in my friend’s case, brutal amounts of low-end torque.

One Deadline Coming Right Up

As promised, I tweaked the training schedule, mashed it up with my road racing schedule and registered for a half-marathon that fit. It took me less than it takes me to brew a cup of java to find a convenient 13.1 foot race not too far from here.

Registration confirmation for the Palmetto Half-Marathon in Columbia, SC

Yes, I will be riding the S1000RR there. I might as well slide in on the fastest ย race horse just to come strolling in last. Why should my running be any different from my racing? On second thought, I herewith solemnly promise to make “tech” on time for this one. ๐Ÿ˜‰

Since talk is cheap and pics are worth at least 30 minutes of small-town gossip, I post the collaborating evidence up for review. 30 minutes of gossip? WTH? That is not how the saying goes! Pictures haven’t been worth 1,000 words since Adobe Photoshop 4.0. ๐Ÿ˜‰

I’m putting the husbandry on notice. Mr. Slow doesn’t have a choice. He will be there. The Busa wills it. He can take photos of me and post pics of my half-dead corpse somewhere around the finish line on Google+ or Facebook or Twitter, and wherever else he hangs out.

Palmetto Half-Marathon

Columbia, SC

April 14, 2012

What time is it? It's time to shut up and put one foot in front of the other. That's what time it is! :)

What time is it? It's time to shut up and put one foot in front of the other. That's what time it is! ๐Ÿ™‚

If You Gonna Be A Squatter…

The story starts something like this: Miss Busa is caught complaining on Facebook that her ass is pretty big. Her sister in speed, Margie “Crashy” Lee, wastes no time pointing out that this is a serious overstatement and just a matter of simple German Girl’s Butt. She further suggests doing a few squats and shutting up, because her “big old black butt” could take both of the German girls’ butts any time and concurrently. Miss Busa’s understanding of Badonkadonk needs revision, obviously. The beautiful JLo is also being dragged into this classy conversation with posterior motives.

Miss Busa (thinks she) has a big butt. Well, how big is it? Her ass is so big, that if she ran up a flight of stairs using the hand rail to slingshot herself around each landing onto the next flight, the ass could be seen taking the outside line to go for the pass.

A KTM-riding rubber-burning maniac from Cali chimes in by posting squatter’s advice on Miss Busa’s wall, for the world (of 70+ friends) to see. A few YouTube links are posted in the form of people being tortured on camera in various undisclosed locations. This is definitely borderline snuff. Aversion quickly turns into sincere interest as the wall tagger, let’s call him Dude Who Runs Downhill, explains this will make the Busa wicked fast. You don’t say?!? Really.

Dude Who Runs Downhill, who is a California State Champion weightlifter and canyon-carving throttle jockey, quickly lays out…

The Challenge

1. Overhead Squats

2. Snatch Lifts

3. High Pulls

4. Good Morning Exercise

I am to do 5 sets of 5 reps each, with a maximum break of 30 seconds in between sets; and a maximum break of 3 minutes in between exercises. I am to do these bare with the bar only. No wait, I am to do these with the bare bar only, no weights. I am to torture myself accordingly on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. I get to take Thursday off and lay around under my bike, or ride around on the one that works. I am to report back for more on Friday and Saturday. Sunday is a rest day. I am to do this for two weeks and then add 5 pounds of weight to the bar (I really wonder if Dude Who Runs Downhill meant on EACH side. I think he meant 5 pounds total. Yeah!).

I have now added strength training to my running. This better pay off in a nice lap time reduction… or I’m going to go to Cali and chase the Dude Who Runs Downhill all the way up the hill to Alice’s Restaurant and make him buy me a vegetarian dinner and a cold brew.

Let the games begin! I have until Monday to procure a bar off of Craigslist, the classifieds or steal one from a gym, or I’m going to have to use a forkleg or a broom stick with bricks tied to either end.

16 days to race day.

Send it down below…

Nothing like feeling like a complete failure to motivate oneself to prove otherwise. I needed to get rid of all this negative energy I’ve had stored up for whatever reason. I hadn’t worked out in two days and that didn’t help my general state of mind. Everywhere I turn, I see obstacles in my way. It’s almost as if I’m swimming upstream, in the wrong direction, against all odds, expending my energy and resources on a lost cause. meh. I hate feeling like this.

I have developed some sort of mental block that keeps me from getting faster on the track. I have an idea about the causality but no real fix on how to go about overcoming the problem. I over-think to the point of distraction. I don’t even know how to explain this… I just know it’s making me slower, and my skill progression has tanked. I hate that, too!

Every time I look at the bike, I find “something else”. Some other mechanical issue that needs to be worked out. I have not a clue. I never wanted to become a mechanic, I just wanted to race the damned thing, but yet here I am. I suffer through it, and make my brain hurt, so I can have a relatively short time by comparison doing the thing I really love to do.

Then there is the financial aspect that bugs me. Racing is financially, uh… irresponsible, a budgetary money pit, a high-risk-no-return proposition especially considering the ongoing game of economic crapshoot. But yet here I am, cutting corners in every other aspect of my life, just so I can “go racin’.” But what a ride! You know you’re in for a good time when they make you sign a waiver before they let you through the gate. Uh-huh. Yup. Nothing like it. I would sell my mother-in-law for a stack of DOT slicks. Yes, it’s that bad. But I can’t help but feel a little guilty.

Winter gets me down, the skies are gray, it’s cold, the world around us dead. People are grumpier than usual. It’s depressing. I find it hard to keep my spirits up when the weather seems so gloomy and foreboding all the time.

The Underpants TreeLots of other personal and family junk that occasionally just wants to show up and take a dump on my happiness. Ick! Screw you. You make me angry because I am helpless and not in control of the situation. Keep your chin up. Ignore it. They’re just jealous. Love the Haters, because it means you’re doing something right. All the kind and supportive comments in the world sometimes aren’t enough… you still end up almost drowning in the cesspool of other people’s bullshit. Blech.

With the attitude of hating my life and feeling like a complete failure, I stomp up the hill to the walking trail behind my house. A 1/3-mile sandy kidney-bean shaped track around a playground and a picnic area. I’m not in the mood, but I have some anger management to do. Exercising should exorcise my (perceived) demons… at least for a little while. If you’re exhausted you have not the energy to be anything but calm. I hit play on the Nike+ GPS app and with the push of that button, decide that today I am going to run until I can run no more. How far can I possibly get? A mile? Maybe… The workout is done with the first walking stride I take. Deal. Off I go.

Last time I was here, maybe a week ago, I couldn’t run a complete lap. It’s torture. After about half a lap, I want to stop. I can’t breathe, my side is starting to hurt. Concentrate. Concentrate. Pay attention to your stride, control your movements. Control your breathing. In through the nose… out through the mouth. Steady. Paced. You can do this.

GPS calculated paceI keep fighting lazy thoughts of quitting with angry thoughts of not wanting to be a failure in today’s run. Failure is not an option. I start crying at one point… or I think I am starting to. I don’t know. One foot in front of the other. I hate running. I want to quit. I don’t see the point. Why bother? I keep pushing on. I am on my last lap to finish the first mile. I tell myself that I at least have to complete one mile. I notice a pair of men’s boxers hanging in a nearby tree. WTF?!? Somebody went home commando.

After that I tell myself one more lap. I have to make it back around to the underpants. I have to take a picture of them. I do. I don’t take a picture of them though. Ok, well I’m almost to two miles. That’s what we ran in the military physical fitness test. I can do this. I see a woman walking about a half a lap ahead of me. Ok. I can lap her… if I lap her before my two miles are up, I’ll allow myself to stop. I end up lapping her twice before she gets in her car and leaves.

Eventually my brain focuses on something racing related and I’m not even really aware anymore that I am running. Well, I am aware of it, but it’s not in the foreground and with that the negative self-talk subsides. I keep pushing. Another idea surfaces: I will set all new PBs today. EVERY SINGLE STAT that Nike+ keeps track of will be improved. Then I’ll let myself be a quitter.

I accomplish my goal at 4.10 miles (farthest run) in 44:16 minutes (longest run) with an overall average pace of 10:47 per mile, which is an improvement by 1:02 minutes. I set my fastest 1K at 6:09; my fastest 1M at 10:08 and my fastest 5K at 33:19.

Do I feel better? A little. Do I still feel like a failure? A little. But at least I have part of my sunshine back. The rest will follow.

Assume The Position!

Dyna-Flex Pro gyroscopic exercise ball for your manual dexterity

This puppy's got some torque: 30 foot-pounds of dexterity enhancing, muscle building torque at 14,000 RPM

The Dyna-Flex Pro Gyro Hand Exerciser

Being reminded that the bone contusion on the base of my left thumb is still not healed and is not getting any better after three months, I remembered this little guy: the Dyna-Flex Pro Gyro Hand Exerciser. I bought it when I had developed acute pain in both wrists due to improperly adjusted levers on my Hayabusa a little over two years ago.

I did some research into how to prevent wrist and hand pain caused by motorcycling riding and how to alleviate it once it has started and what the causes are. I had first thought that my pain was caused by having to write a lot by hand at work. The pain started in my right hand, after all. When the left hand started complaining, I had to admit to misdiagnosing myself. I bought several carpal tunnel braces. None of which seemed to offer any relief.

One source stated that exercise would relieve repetitive motion injury, as long as it isn’t the same repetitive motion that caused the injury in the first place. My injuries started in my right hand, because it is constantly adjusting throttle input and working the front brakes. The clutch hand followed later, because it doesn’t have to rotate the grip and the clutch lever is used less frequently than the brake, even more so since I do not use the clutch lever to upshift once I’m rolling.

Superbike grips are low, pretty close together and at an angle, to enable the rider to tuck in tightly behind the wind screen, for those high-speed low-drag pursuits on the Inter… oh wait! On the straight parts of the racetrack. That makes them somewhat a pain in the wrist when mounted on a street bike and riding at highway speeds. You could assume the position and look like a total douche puttering down the boulevard at 55 MPH in a full race tuck, which will eventually lead to a pain in the neck. Sportbikes are also a pain in the ass, just read this post on The Dandooligan for the reason why.

Not to say that the race tuck doesn’t have its application in street riding. When it’s cold as crap and the wind chill dumps the temps to -16 Fahrenheit, the race tuck doesn’t seem so silly anymore at Interstate speeds. It also helps when it’s windy enough to get blown all over the road. Tuck in tight, become one with the machine and take back control of your lane position. If nothing’s sticking out, it’s a heck of a lot less likely for you to get blown off the road.

A Quickie Lesson in Riding Position

Proper riding position, a neutral wrist-arm alignment (wrist inline with forearm, not kinked at an angle), and well-adjusted levers and foot pegs are pretty much mandatory. And so is having the proper strength and dexterity in various parts of the body to assume the correct pose to avoid such things as “arm pump” (which is caused by putting your weight on your kinked wrists) and unintentional steering inputs.

You should be anchored to your bike with your lower body only. All your weight should be off your wrists. If you can’t let go of your grips at any point without falling off your rocket, you need to re-examine your body position.

Seven points of contact: Left hand, right hand, left inner thigh, right inner thigh, your azz, left foot, right foot.

Four anchor points: Left foot, right foot, left inner thigh, right inner thigh. Your core (and to a degree wind-resistance) hold your upper body up, and the hands are free to do whatever they need to do. No pulling yourself up by your arms! That’s a big no-no. If you can’t hang off and switch positions from left to right without having your hands on the grips you’re not doing it right. This is a tough one and not quite as important in street riding as it is in track riding, however it’s a good habit to get into to avoid all those complaints about discomfort and pain a lot of riders have with riding sportbikes.

Two control points: Left hand, right hand. And that’s all they should be doing. Controlling stuff. Steering, clutch, throttle, brakes, and pushing the buttons on your MP3 player…

Back to our regular scheduled programming…

The gyro ball works. I used it off and on at work when I was bored, sitting at my desk or standing around outside. I couldn’t use it for more than a few minutes at the time, and I could feel my muscles working all the way to my shoulders. I fatigued fairly quickly, but I did notice an improvement in my mangled wrists. My arms were also sore after using the thing. The pain in my wrists eventually disappeared and my finger dexterity seemed to have improved some.

The only “grype” I have: It’s a pull-start and the little shoelace-like string that comes with the ball eventually loses it’s plastic ends, which makes it impossible to insert the string into the little hole inside of the “string channel”. You can manually start the ball, but it takes some practice, but eventually you’ll get the hang of it.

I am on my second ball. The first one succumbed to gyroscopic failure a few days after I bought it. I took it back to the store to exchange it for a new one. The second ball is still going strong.

It’s a fun little cubicle toy, too. It gives you something to play with when you’re bored, it doesn’t seem like exercise until your muscles scream bloody murder and it’s fun to have “races” at the office. Mine got passed around quite a lot. People couldn’t walk past the thing without picking it up and giving it a spin.

If you decide to give this thing a try, don’t bother with all those unnecessary accessories you can buy for it; even though the lighted version is pretty nifty. ๐Ÿ™‚

Miss Busa Stamp of Approval (Rated 4/5 Hearts)

Rated 4 out of 5 Hearts

That takes care of the finger/hand dexterity. Now, off to do some squats and lunges to bring my thighs up to speed, so I can actually move from side to side on my bike, without having to cheat eventually and pull myself up by the clip-ons. :/ My core and lower back could use a little de-fluffing, too.

Disclaimer: I’m not a doctor! Nor can I recommend self-diagnosis as a proper medical tool to circumvent paying inflated co-pays to excessively greedy HMOs/PPOs who can’t get enough of your money. So, see a freakin’ doctor. This article is not intended to be used as a PDR, it just tells of my own experiences with an exercise product. And if this ain’t working out for you, don’t come crying to me via your ambulance-chasing attorney. In other words, don’t try this at home, kids.

Three-Mile High

My competition number on a mailbox: 113

Will you look at that?!? That's my competition number. Pause workout. Snap picture.

I almost didn’t go. I wanted to be lazy and just do a workout DVD in the living room. As I have mentioned before, I hate running. I loathe it. Why am I putting myself through this? Because I hate being beaten by something. I need to redeem myself and get back to being able to run 8-minute miles again, like I did when I wanted to go to Airborne School with my ROTC team in college. For that reason alone, it’s the endurance training method I have chosen. I will conquer this aversion and my innate tendency to cough up a lung and redline my pulse rate. I think I did hit my personal rev limiter the very first time I ran in September. I missed my turn-off, and ended up running an “accidental 5K”. I almost passed out on the side of the road, and after finally making it home, I vomited up pretty much nothing, right after drinking a little water. That was one ill feeling. I care not to repeat that. Needless to say, I didn’t run again until just a few days ago.

Here's your sign: 113

OK, now I know it's fate!

With only one month to go before the start of the race season, I am out of excuses. And every time I turn laps during a track day, I come back from the session telling myself that I need to start working out. Hell, I can feel the need to get in shape. My body is screaming for me to get it properly trained. I am slow because I can’t keep up physically. There are other factors that keep me from being faster, but those can’t really be successfully addressed until my muscles don’t threaten failure and my lungs quit screaming bloody murder.

Obviously, I won’t be in top physical condition by the time I grid up at Talladega, but it’ll be tons better than what it used to be. I have to get it into my brain, that physical conditioning is part of racing. Even though at my level it seems so… overkill.

As much as I confess to disliking running or exercising in general, I had a pretty good run today. I think I discovered how to exactly move my legs and position my feet without “plopping” along, but rather to “roll”. I don’t know if that makes sense or not. However, my leg muscles felt more under control and my feet’s impact wasn’t as harsh. My stride almost felt sexy; and if running is anything like motorcycle riding then I must have been doing something right, because it feels “sexy” when you do it right. That’s how I know that I’ve nailed it. It feels awesome in execution. Just plain “sexy”. Like a dance move, it flows; smoothly.

My pace increased in speed by 10 seconds, I walked a heck of a lot less, and I only hit the internal redline (200 BPM) once. I should have blown the engine by now, huh? I have had low blood pressure all my life, so my heart’s accustomed to the rest of me sitting around somewhere instead of having work to do. I guess, if I was to keel over and die of a stroke, I would have been roadkill two runs ago…

On a weird side note: I kept seeing my competition number along my randomly chosen route. When I saw the second one, I paused my workout and took out my phone to snap a picture. It motivated me for some reason, and it made me smile. It made me want to do this even more. It’s fate, I tell you. Fate.

A screenshot of my Nike+ GPS app: A record day!

These are almost as embarrassing as my lap times at Road Atlanta, but I am proud of them. I set two records today: Fastest 1K and fastest mile. I don't want to hear any trash talk from all you real runners out there either!

I am happy today that I overcame my inertia and set my fa(s)t ass in motion! And towards the end of my run what goodness does the playlist serve up?!? Take it to the limit! Yeah. Yeah! Although it doesn’t take me 4 seconds to reach 60, it’s more like 2.01. Oh, wait a minute, that’s how long it takes me to move 60 feet. =P


Zero to 60 in 4.3
She gets me into trouble and then she makes it double
Takes all my money, she’s a spending machine
But baby, I ain’t hurtin’ I love the way you work it

"Take it to the Limit" by Hinder