wednesday weigh in

I think it's important that I be honest and tell you ... I took a little hiatus from consistent running. Because, well, driving and staying in a new place every night for three weeks straight can throw a wrench in your exercise routine unless you are really dedicated.

And well, I'm not. At least not yet.

But I hope to be. One day.

This past weekend, Sunday to be exact, I started to run again. When Charlie told me that he had spoken to my mother and she told him that she booked her plane ticket to fly to California with Jim in August to watch the children so that we could participate in our triathlon, and Charlie then went on line and registered and paid money for our triathlon, and then I looked at the calendar and realized Good Golly the triathlon is in less than four weeks, I got a little panicky.

Since we are out $65.00 per person and my mother has dropped a small fortune on plane tickets, there is no turning back now. We are committed.

So Sunday, right?

I jump on to my recently* tuned up bicycle (*is five months ago still considered "recent"?) and make it to the end of the street before realizing that the tires are both flat and the seat is six-inches higher than it should be. And although I could still make it to the track, I look and feel like an idiot pedaling along with two flat tires and my legs over-extended, so I turn around and ride home. Awkwardly.

Charlie comes out of the house and fixes the bike for me. I hop back on and make my way to the track, after doing a three-mile loop around our neighborhood. Since I hadn't been on a bicycle in over four years (the last time was before I was pregnant with the triplets), this three-mile loop robs my brain of it's thinking power and leaves my legs feeling like jelly. But since I have to swim and ride before I run on race day, I figured that riding before I ran would be a good warm-up.

Once I got to the track, I hopped off my bike - did some stretches - plugged in my headphones - turned on my iPod and took off running. The first 1/2 mile was great. No problem. I was trotting along, with the mantra "wicked pissah" repeating over and over again in my head.

(This phrase happens to be a little something I picked up during my recent trip to Boston. Along with five pounds from eating hot fudge sundaes every-other-night.)

With each step, I'd tell myself "I'm wicked pissah, out running. I'm the wicked pissah runner. I'm going to do a wicked pissah race and finish in wicked pissah time, because that's what a wicked pissah athlete does. And I AM wicked pissah."

Left foot hits ground ... "Wicked"

Right foot hits ground ... "Pissah!"

Left foot hits ground ... "Wicked"

Right foot hits ground ... "Pissah!"

"Wicked Pissah! Wicked Pissah! Wicked Pissah!"

As I'm jogging along, I noticed that a few of the people that were walking or running in the opposite direction were smiling and laughing in my general vicinity and I assumed it was because they were thinking I looked so good.

But instead, it was because I realized, right about the time I finished a mile and felt like my lungs were going to explode that OH! I'm still wearing my big bike helmet and I look like a wicked pissah goofball staggering around the track.

My goal this week was to run twice, ride twice and swim twice. Thus far, I haven't been running or riding since Sunday and I have yet to step foot in the pool.

But I've watched figure skating while eating corn dogs.


That has to count for something.

***********

How are you doing with your goals?