It has taken me a minute to actually write this down. It has actually taken a moment for it to sink in (which it still hasn’t just yet). On October 11, 2015 I will be running (or crawling…whatever) 26.2 miles through Chicago (or as The Boy likes to say Chiraq). I get butterflies just thinking about it.
I applied for the Chicago Marathon lottery on a whim. Who ever really gets picked for that anyway? Well, obviously people do or else there wouldn’t be a race, but you know what I mean: I would never get picked for that anyway. But…I did.
Because I got picked (Brooklyn did too btw), I certainly cannot turn it down. Why would anyone do that? It is the Chicago Marathon after all. From what I heard it is a great first marathon, it is a beautiful run and it’s Chicago. I have never been there. I get to experience something new.
So, I paid for the registration, bought a plane ticket, booked a hotel and started marathon training via Nike+ on Tuesday. Will I make it? I dunno. I’m damn sure gonna try though. Why not? Besides, I also have the Rock n’ Roll Savannah Marathon in November and the Peachtree in July so I have to start seriously training anyway. Might as well throw another race on the barbee.
Hi, I am Sadie, and I am running the 2015 Chicago Marathon. Yes…on purpose. Yes that is 26.2 miles. Yes…I think I am a little crazy 😛
Picture it: Black leggings, black knee high leather boots, black sweater, make-up on, lips glossed….undies rolling. It has happened to me plenty of times. I look fab and feel fab only to have my underwear slowly roll down my belly and slip to a stop under the gut. Can you say mood ruin-er?
This, ladies, is a warning. Your undies are saying “warning! warning! your ass is getting fat!” Any time your undergarments start oozing out flesh or wedging in uncomfy places or rolling down your gut, this is a warning that you are, indeed, getting fatter. So…here…I will admit that I am getting fatter.
I have been training for the Tri for a few of months. I cannot say I can actually complete it with out dying, but I can say my body is more than ready for better nutrition. Young Gun threw down the weight loss gauntlet a few weeks ago and he’s already getting slimmer (in the waist anyway–and currently I hate him so hard right now). Over the past few days I have laid on Mommy’s couch eating cake for breakfast and cookies for lunch. I am deathly afraid of stepping on that scale, but I have got to put my too-small-for-me big girl panties on and hop to it.
No more games (yes…I have muttered those words before). No more excuses (yup…those too). No more slipping and getting lazy (mmhm…this too). Not only do I have a triathlon to finish training for, but I also have a marathon to train for and a friggin weight loss challenge with a young cat to complete. I have no more room for failure. Besides…I am sick of rolling up my underwear.
I will do what I have to do. Eat what I have to eat. Run what I have to run. Lift what I have to lift. I will get to wherever my body wants to take me. The pressure I feel is good pressure. I’m not worried. I am, however, a little annoyed that Young Gun is trying to beat me. There is no way I can let him win…him or my underwear…
We have discussed Brooklyn and her many, many ridiculously crazy ideas. We have also discussed how I manage to suck my own stupid self in to her many, many ridiculously crazy ideas. This particular idea might not be extremely crazy (unlike some of the other ones she has presented), but to me it is just insane enough to have me shook.
Running. I love it. The other day I was in need of some free thought space and I strapped on my tennis shoes and high-tailed it out of the office. I pounded the treadmill until my body hurt. It is abuse, I am almost positive. Running is my way of escape. It is what brings the world back into focus. When I run, I am free….but…err…that run lasts about 45 minutes and on a good day that freedom equals 3 miles. Never, ever in a million years did I think that freedom would equal 26.2 miles on purpose.
Yes, I said it. 26.2 miles. No, that is not a typo. That number represents the amount of miles my size 10’s will travel in November 2015. Even typing it is giving me gas (or perhaps it is just the morning coffee talking). What the hell did I just do??? Am I nuts?! Yea, I would say so.
I am already training for the Iron Man 70.3 in September 2015 (I am pretty sure I won’t make the May 2015 race) so I suppose I could just add extra umph to accommodate for the 26.2 in November. The extra work is not what is catching me in the gassy throws of fear–it is the actual task of completing the race. Tattoo my face? Let’s get it. Sky dive? Hell yes! Lay down in a bed of snakes? Sure, why not. Rely on my 35 (well…36 at race time) year old body to carry _____ pounds for 7-8 constant, pavement pounding hours? Yea, no, I am certainly not feeling that one.
What is done is done. I suppose I can’t or won’t spend my time going down the long list of worries spinning around in my head. I will just focus on getting it done. I will focus on staying healthy so I can make it through. I will focus on the positive aspects of going balls to the wall crazy with Crazy (aka Brooklyn). Not everyone can pull that kind of challenge off. Not every 252 lb woman can push her body and her spirit to complete that particular task. Not everyone can do crazy….but crazy is and crazy does.