Feel The Base: Chicago Marathon 2012
All righty people! I’m now 21 weeks out from the Chicago Marathon. Well…to be precise, Sunday is 21 weeks out from the Chicago Marathon.
Due to that, I’ve spent the last couple of weeks freaking out about what program I’m going to use. My base isn’t quite where I want it (almost nonexistent) and I was seriously thinking of just bagging the whole thing. Why? Because I’m dramatic and irrational. I’m working on all of that. Anyway, it was pointed out to me that Chicago is over 5 months away and a lot of good solid training can be done in 5 months. It’s not like I’m a running newbie.
With that bit of information, I set out to find the “perfect” training plan for me. Guess what? I couldn’t find one. However, I did find one that I can totally bastardize and make my own. It’s just a build up of miles topping out around 48-50ish miles. There is one 20 miler and no speed work. It says to run harder on the days you feel like it. That does not work for me, so I will be doing some marathon spsecific speed work that I’m still researching. I am partial to tempo runs, progression runs, and fast finish long runs.
Since the idea of 21 weeks of training makes me want to barf, I’ve broken up the plan into different phases. My first phase is what I’m calling Feel the Base. It’s 9 weeks long and will give me a decent base. Take a look:
Nothing fancy at all. Just getting some miles on my legs. I do plan on sprinkling some fartlek runs, strides, and hills in. I’m also going to do a couple of cross-training sessions a week. Most likely some swimming and weights.
The full plan looks the exact same, but with miles building. Once I’m done building a base, I’ll adjust things as needed. I might be able to squeeze in a second 20 miler if things are going well. (I’d reallly like to do that, so we’ll see.)
The cool thing about what I’m calling my Bastardized Marathon Plan is that it’s pretty flexible. That lets me figure out how I’m feeling that day and adjust. I don’t like super rigid plans. Unfortunately, I’m not able to just wing it every day and know that things will work out. I have to have some sort of structure. (Thus the reason I’m planning out my base training as well.)
Is there anything I should add or that I’m missing? I’m super open to suggestions. Also, I’m actually excited about training. This is the first time in years that I’ve been excited about running. Maybe I’m getting back to normal.
All this talk about base…I have to throw some Miami bass down for y’all. They don’t call us the bass capital for nothing:
And yes…I’m break dancing right now. This song makes me think of dirty, sweaty warehouses. Hell yeah!
Where the Hell Have I Been?
I’m sure absolutely no one has been wondering that, but I’m going to tell you anyway. I was house sitting up in Boynton Beach for the past 4 days while one of my best friends, Mr. F, and his wife had their first baby. Maxwell is adorable and I can’t wait to dress him like a panda. Also, I bought him this:
And this:
This child will obviously have awesome taste (or be as big a geek as me…whichever).
Otherwise, everything is status quo. No. Really. It’s just status quo. At this point, I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.
My mileage is…there. This recovery has been far harder than I thought it would be. Oh well. I’m not going to push. I feel good and am not sore. It’s my lungs that aren’t getting with the program. If things don’t improve I’ll see my doctor. Since I have a history of blood clots – and had some calf pain last week – it doesn’t hurt to be on the safe side.
Since this is the most boring post ever, I leave all of you with Shemar Moore’s bulge. You’re welcome, bitches!:
That shit just gave me the vapors.
Another Year Passes
So, yeah. My birthday kind of happened Saturday. I kept it low-key. I went to brunch with my mother and lil’ sister and then to Rocco’s Tacos (The bestest place ever!!! I LOVE TACOS. And tequila…sorry I got excited) with Toilet for lunch. That was the extent of my celebrations. I just really don’t get the big birthday thing for adults. No one gives a shit.
My family is not really big into gifts for birthdays/in general. I got a cute panda purse and an AWESOME panda hat. Not that knit hat with the ears. A baseball cap. I LOVE it and will be wearing it just to be obnoxious in the near future.
The best gift, however came from my dad. He gave me money to get a puppy!
I have no idea what I want, or when. I do know that when the time is right and it’s the right puppy I’ll know it. For the time being, I’m puppy-proofing my apartment and coming up with great puppy names.
But, my real question is, can I throw myself a puppy shower? I’m never going to have children because puppies > babies. If I were to be tricked into a wedding I doubt I’d have a shower because I actually like my friends. However, I’d be down with a puppy shower. No gifts necessary, just everyone bringing their dogs and hanging out with the new puppy. Yeah…I might do that for my imaginary puppy. Can’t be any worse than women that have a party to announce the sex of their baby or three wedding showers.
Fuck. This. Shit.
It is truly my believe that there is a panda meme for every occasion. For this one, I believe this panda says it all:
If only I could run away like this wise panda is doing. What’s causing this? Have a seat.
I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I had a follow up visit for my myomectomy. At the time, the doc said everything looked good and if everything was ok, then he would send my results via snail mail.
Now, I have to mention that last week I was a bit concerned since I hadn’t received my all clear letter. The test that was a couple of months after my surgery arrived within days. It’s now been a few weeks. I assumed that it was on it’s way or that it got caught between some junk mail and I threw it away. They NEVER send bad news via the mail. Since I hadn’t gotten a call I thought nothing of it.
Today, I got a call from the office. 6 months post surgery and LEEP procedure and I have abnormal cells again.
It’s concerning because there is no HPV found, but the cancer doc says we will wait 4 months and retest. I need to call him tomorrow and let him know that I am spotting as well. I thought nothing of it and when I had my PAP I wasn’t spotting. However, the past couple of weeks I have been.
Shit! I am so fucking tired of this. I’m sick of doctors offices, huge medical bills, swollen abdomens from removing shitloads of tumors, dumb bitches telling me to hurry up and have a baby because OMFG you might need a hysterectomy. I’m tired and just want to be well. If that means hysterectomy then so be it.
Sorry to be such a whiny brat, but yeah. Such is life. Doesn’t help that I’m moving closer to 40 than I want to on Saturday and have nothing to show for it. No house. No dream job. No hottie boyfriend. No cute dog. NOTHING. Just a bunch of abnormal fucking cells in my cervix and a shitload of hospital debt.
Happy birthday to me.
A Little Bit of This, A Little Bit of That
Hello and Happy Friday, y’all!
I’m in a wonderful mood. Not sure how the hell that happened, but it did. Actually, this week has not been so bad. It was nowhere near as shitty as last week thanks to me getting – on average – 9 hours of sleep a night. Holla!
So, what’s going on in GeekGirlandia? (Don’t judge me!):
Running
I’ve been running. And…I don’t hate it. Tuesday’s 3 miler was pretty shitty and left me sore, but Thursday’s was easy peasy except for the fact that I really had to pee. I looked for a building to duck behind but couldn’t find one. It made me a bit uncomfortable. Tonight, I’ll kill 3 or then we’re looking to get another 3 on Saturday and 5-6 on Sunday. Woot!
I’m 8 weeks out from the start of Chicago training. I know I should have more miles, but what can I do? It’s taken me this long to kind of feel normal. If I find I’m having issues adding miles over my 8 week base building period (I’ll detail that a bit more in a later post) then I’ll re-evaluate my marathon training. Maybe go with a Hal Higdon plan or something instead of MacMillian.
Sleeping
If any of you follow me on Twitter, you know I have some serious sleep issues. Last week, everything accumulated and I had what can only be described as a complete and total break down. I called my mom crying after not sleeping for weeks. The most I’d get continuously was 2 hours. Tops. It took it’s toll on me and I was a wreck.
My mom managed to talk me down and forced me to see my shrink. We worked through some things. Lo and behold, I’m sleeping 9 hours a night without sleeping pills. What did I do? Stopped drinking wine. It was NOT helping my sleep situation. Cut way back on caffeine. (I only have 1 cup in the morning anyway.) Force myself into bed at a decent hour. Take my medicines as they’re prescribed. Like magic, by Friday night I was able to sleep.
It’s still not perfect. The other night I only slept 5 hours or so, but that’s better than 2.
Other Randomness
You MUST check out this Buffy the Vampire Slayer post on Pajiba. It is the shit and reenforces why I am, and always will be, Joss Whedon’s bitch.
I think this song should be Obama’s 2012 theme song:
In case you don’t feel like listening, it’s Big K.R.I.T. “I Got This”. The chorus is “Fuck these haters, Fuck these ho’s.”
It’s my new theme song.
GeekGirl puts on sunglasses and dances across the room…I Got This!
On Being “That Black Girl” Part 2
Sorry it took me so long to get back to this. I’ve been fighting some wicked insomnia that left me pretty brain dead. I finally got some sleep last night. (And now I’m awake. At 3 AM. Because I suck.)
So, where were we? Oh yes. White Settlement, TX.
I was around 13 or so when we moved to White Settlement. I actually think our house was in Lake Worth and we went to school in White Settlement or something like that. I honestly don’t remember. What I do remember is being the only black person in the entire class, if not the school. I only remember there being one other mixed girl. There were a few Mexicans if I remember correctly.
This was my first experience riding the bus. I usually sat by myself since I didn’t have any friends. No one wanted to sit with the little black girl. Not only was I black, but I was a nerd. At the time I was first chair in band. I played flute. I was in advanced classes and I made straight A’s.
I endured daily torture from the other kids. I was made fun of due to where my dad worked. Odd since he likely made way more money than most people’s parents. We lived in a nice house in a nice neighborhood. We drove new cars. I had the same Guess jeans, Reeboks, etc as all the other kids. Yet, the mocked me because my dad was the K-Mart manager. Go figure. (Note: He actually worked for K-Mart for 25-30 years. He managed one of the largest, highest grossing stores in the country. He also worked out of their corporate offices. Believe it or not, those guys made bank back then.)
So, the incident that sticks out in my head the most was what I now call “The Cookie Incident”. One day, on my way to school I was sitting on the bus when Rodney got on. All these years later I still remember this assholes name. He was a wanna be punk rocker or some shit. He wore black band shirts and shaved his head. Maybe he thought he was a skinhead. He lived in the same subdivision as I did and decided that it was his job to make my life a living hell.
On this day, he decided he wanted to eat my lunch. (My mom packed my lunch for me daily. She was a SAHM and didn’t have much else to do. I’ve asked. She said being a SAHM sucks.) He demanded that I give it to him. Something to the effect of, “Give me your lunch, you nigger.” I resisted at first, but then his little asshole friends took it from me. Keep in mind this is happening on the bus. The bus driver is just pretending she doesn’t see it.
He then proceeds to eat my lunch. Then gets to my cookies – my favorite, Oreos – and spits them in my face. He then throws the lunch bag and everything else violently at me, tells me I’m a nigger, something about being on welfare and then goes back to his seat.
I had to clean myself up at school and attempt to go about my day. Where I then faced more torture from the other kids. To make matters worse. I had no lunch that day. Just as well since I generally didn’t sit in the lunchroom. Instead I hid in the bathroom most days.
When I got home from school, I must have been a mess and my mom was able to pry the details of that day out of me. I have NEVER seen her so angry. It was like a darkness went across her face. She called my father and by the time he got home you could feel the tension in the air.
My dad said he would go talk to Rodney’s parents and maybe they could discuss this and come to some sort of agreement. This was my dad thinking that this was just some asshole kid whose parents would be appalled that their kid is acting this way. You know. Like a normal parent. Nope. From what I recall Rodney’s father called my dad a nigger and told him to get off his property. I wasn’t there, though. I just remember my dad coming back PISSED.
The next day, my parents STORMED the school. They insisted that something happened to all of the boys involved and weren’t going to stop harassing the principal until they did.
I’m not sure what happened to Rodney. I never saw him on the bus or at school again. He might have been expelled or suspended. He might have dropped out to be a racist asshole. Who knows? Who cares?
I managed to survive the torture of being the only black girl in a school. You would think moving to a place where there is a lot more diversity would be a good thing. You would be wrong. The next place we moved was Greenville, TX. The first place that I ever experienced what I think is truly “reverse racism”.
Did you know there is only one way to be black? If you don’t dress, talk, walk and act a certain way then you’re “pretending to be white”. Yeah.
To be continued…
Quickie Update
I’m working on part II of “On Being That Black Girl”. I didn’t know people would find that interesting, so I’m fleshing out the second part a little more. In the meantime, I want to give a quickie update on me. Why? Why not?
Last week, I tried a running streak. It lasted 3 days and then my knee started to hurt. I’m happy to report that I took a day or 2 off and now feel fine. I’m sure the knee didn’t start bothering me due to the 3 days. The knee started bothering me because I ran in the Brooks Ghost. I really like that shoe, but can only wear it sparingly right now. Same thing with any other light shoes that I wear. For the time being, I’m rotating between the Mizuno Waveriders (so glad they fit well again! Love this shoe!), Brooks Launch, Brooks Ghost, and Brooks Defyance. Can you tell which brands I prefer?
So, the running is there. It’s getting easier and I’m starting to feel like a runnerish type person. (Though, oddly, I should be running right now but am not.) I’m thinking of doing a 10k at the end of May and may do a 5k around the end of the month. I have to look around and see what is available because I am lazy and refuse to drive for longer than I’m going to run.
Last Thursday I had an appointment with my cancer doctor. It was just a follow up and so far he says everything looks good. I’m waiting on the results of the tests that were taken. If everything is all clear I see him again in August, then I can become a regular patient that only goes to the gyno once a year. I am so ready to close this chapter of my life. This chapter seems to have been going on forever and I’m emotionally and physically exhausted from it.
Yes. I’ll admit it. My life is a bit of a mess right now. I’m working through it though and know I will get back to happy or at least content at some point. I just wish it would hurry the fuck up.
On Being “That Black Girl”
So, we could talk about how I tried to do a running streak and it only lasted 3 days. We could also talk about how I went to my 6 month follow up for my myomectomy (it went well, but waiting for the results of the pap and biopsy). Those are all things that I intend to discuss at some point.
However, I want to discuss being black in America. Not being a “hood-rat” or a ghetto bitch. Just being “that black girl.” If this is too much for you or you think that I’m playing the “race card” please, for the fuck of shit, go somewhere else. Do not come back here. This is my reality and I feel the need to talk about it.
Ok. So, with all of this discussion swirling around about Trayvon Martin it’s brought up a whole bunch of emotions in me. First, I think Zimmerman should be in jail. He should be facing charges and letting the jury decide. This has nothing to do with race, and everything to do with …fuck it! It’s about race. If Martin were white, Zimmerman would not have called 911.
That’s not what I want to discuss. What I want to discuss is the racism I’ve faced throughout the years.
I first realized I was black when I was around 4. One of the other kids called me a nigger. I went home, asked my mom what a nigger was and she explained the whole black/white thing to me. Prior to that I thought I was the same as all the other kids. Once this was explained to me, it hurt my feelings. I even tried to “peel” off my black.
Moving forward, I didn’t just do well in school. I was so freaking smart I SKIPPED A GRADE. Yes, I was “That Girl.” I was a champion speller. Made straight A’s. Everyone considered my bright or gifted.
When we moved to Arizona (my dad had a job that moved us every 2 years. Prior to that I was an army brat.), my mom had to fight not to have me put in remedial classes. For some reason (we all know why) they tried to put me in remedial reading and math classes. This was after testing high in all state tests and coming in with straight A’s. My mom went to the school daily and fought to have me in ADVANCED classes. I made straight A’s. Per usual.
This is where I next realized that being black sucked. One guy harassed me daily on my short walk to and from school. He called me “nigger”. Said my family was on welfare (odd since we owned a house in the same neighborhood as him and my dad most likely was someone in his family’s boss.) It was hell. I used to RUN home to avoid him. One day, I came home crying. My mom asked what was wrong and I told her. She marched to the school and spoke directly to the principal. I was so embarrassed, but he said that no one would be bullied or harassed in his school and racism would NOT be tolerated. The kid(s) that were harassing me were all punished, and he WALKED me home daily to prove his point. I wish I could remember his name, because he was a total badass and he made me feel like someone. Like I was just as important as every cute, white Kelly, Jessica, or Jennifer in my class. He REFUSED to allow racism and REFUSED for me to be bothered because of my skin color. (Note: AZ is as awful as you think. My dad asked to transfer out of there.)
Then my dad got transferred to “White Settlement”, TX. Yes, it’s as shitty as it sounds. Also, my story gets much, much worse.
Part II coming up…
Never Trust A Big Butt and A Smile
Something strange is going on around here. It’s like a whole bunch of guys are just now noticing me. One of my neighbors said, “You’ve put on weight. You look great.” Uhm…really? Because from where I stand my ass is ginormus. And the boobs? Where the fuck did they come from? I’ve never had boobs in my life. I gain 10-12 lbs and boom! Boobs. Do. Not. Want.
So does this mean that everyone thought that I looked like shit before? Were guys thinking, “She’d be so much cuter if she actually had an ass and some boobs.” Is this why I’m single? I just needed to gain some weight? I just don’t understand. I’m really, really confused and don’t understand weighty stuff at all. The truth is, the minute I’m back to running anything more than 20 miles per week, I’m going to drop right back to the size I was before. This is not a humblebrag. This is the truth. I’m 5’1″ and petite.
How do I know that this weight is going to be gone soon? Because of this:
Now, you’re probably wondering why I have no shame and am showing you my disgusting apartment. And, yes that might be a pair of panties on the floor. (I’m really not sure. Could be a bra or something.)
Anyway, this is exciting for me because those are all running clothes. Running clothes that were dirty and had to be washed*. There might be a dress or 2 on there, but all the rest are running shorts, sports bras, running socks, some shirts, hats, hair accessories, and my Road ID. (There’s also a single work glove on there. Not sure what that’s about either. I wonder if it’s even mine.)
What does this all mean? It means that my ass has been running!!!!!
I’ve given up on distances and time and have just been making sure that I head out the door daily. Some runs are 20 minutes. Some are 30-40. Some suck. Some don’t suck as much. Whatever. I’m running and that’s all that matters for now. Woohoo!
My incision still kind of bugs and I still feel huge. I also still drink a bit too much most nights, but I am getting shit done. Like a boss! I even chicked my neighbor yesterday. Poor guy. He got passed by a woman at least 10 years his senior that had a belly full of tumors a few months ago. Ha ha ha!
Finally, the only reason I used that title for this blog post is so we can all dance to this:
*Note: I never dry my running clothes. I think it bakes in the funk!
Ohhhh….and I promise gangsta stories. Just got to get them organized a bit.
Unfriend That Bitch!
I actually have been feeling like posting lately. However, AT&T sucks great big donkey dicks and I have not had REAL internet since Friday. Hours on the phone and a new modem later and I’m back up and ready to terrorize. (BTW – No internet means lots of running/reading/drinking. I might do it again.)
So, I’m on FaceBook like every other asshole on the planet. I was very reluctant to join since I prefer the blog format and – well – there are a lot of people in my past that I just don’t give a shit about. One day, I’ll have to do a post about what my life was like before I was slapped upside the head with a dose of grow-the-fuck-up. (Hint: I’m truly far more gangsta’ then you would ever guess despite my lovely upper middle class upbringing, awesome grades, and being a spoiled brat. The more I think about it, it’s probably a great post since it’s the opposite of where most bloggers came from. If you guys show interest, maybe I’ll tell my story.)
Anyway, through the years I’ve had friends of all types. My high school “friends” are all from a small town in East TX called Greenville. Greenville is famous for having the following sign:
In case you can’t quite make that out, it reads: “The blackest land, the whitest people”. (In my parent’s defense my dad was transferred there. It was as horrible as you would imagine, but oddly it was the other blacks that made life suck for me. Wow…another deep post that might need to be written.)
For the most part, outside of a couple of high school friends that I truly liked, I ignore the rest.
Then, I have my college/TX raver friends. They’re all cool. Either gay/DJ’s/awesome mom’s taking their kids to concerts with ear plugs. I like these people and cried when I left them. I enjoy seeing what they’re up to. My FL peeps are pretty awesome as well. All cool, progressive and generally not ignorant. (Though, I sometimes have to correct some on their calling things gay.)
Finally, there are the people that I’ve worked with, etc and kept in touch with for business reasons. I’m a web bitch and you never know where you’ll find extra work or your next job. For the most part I like these people. Most of them are cool. I’ve worked in some cool progressive places. (My bff is a co-worker. I was a grooms-girl in his wedding and can’t wait for his baby.) But…
There are those that are bat-shit insane that you keep on for..well. Amusement I suppose.
Today, on our private board (long story, but in short it’s a football themed board. I’m only there because I helped set it up and ALL my friends are on it. I hang out in the misc. section and cause trouble), one of my ex-coworkers/FB friends said he supported Santorum.
This is from a guy that was caught doing coke, with hookers in the office. He slept with people that were not his wife. He once IM’d me for ecstasy on accident. Yet, now that he’s a born-again fucking Christian with 15 kids (I honestly don’t know how many since I never look at his kids), he thinks we need some morals in this country.
Sit and stew on that for a while…
Also, he says that abortion is genocide!! Uhm…what. Is this what it takes to stay away from coke and pills? Because he was far more fun on coke. (Shots for everybody!!!!)
To summarize: This guy had a shitload of fun at one point. I had fun with him at times. (Dude would buy shots for EVERYBODY!!!) He got caught with hookers at the office and was doing coke off his desk and their asses (who hasn’t?). Now he’s found some invisible sky dude and wants to regulate everyone’s life. AFTER HIS FUN.
I debated on it. Posted the question on Twitter. After a bit of that, he was unfriended. I have a high tolerance for conservatives due to my East TX upbringing. BUT…
AGREEING WITH SANTORUM IS WHERE I DRAW THE MUTHAFUCKING LINE!!!! Being a self-righteous douchebag that had a shit load of fun and now wants no one else to have fun is where I draw the line as well.
The fact that people take Santorum seriously, and want him to run our nation is just too fucking much.
Fuck you, Santorum! Fuck you, Santorum supporters!
Now…cocaine and abortions for everybody!!!!
I should totally run for president!!!
Disclaimer: I am no longer a party girl. However, if you want to party, get down girl! I do not judge. Bring me your hot leftovers and hook a bitch up!
Second Disclaimer: I LOVE COCAINE BEAR!!!
Third Disclaimer: I’m about to lose readers, huh? Since I don’t make money off this I do not care!