Arms. Hate. Me.

I run like a Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robot.

If you call the red one right now, I will cut you.

Thanks a lot today. You're a real pal.

Stupid push ups, core busting torture devices and the god forsaken kettle bell! 

"Mom, I can't put my arms down!"

No, seriously. 

The only difference between Randy and I is that he has freezing cold snow while here it is ridonkulously hot with no chance of rain- maybe ever.

Oh, and Randy can put his arms down sans coat. Mine appear to be locked in 90 degree angles.

Joy.

One good thing did happen during this morning's torture: 

(and this is MAJOR!)

I used a band (think stretchy jump rope with looped handles) without getting thwacked in the face.

See? Major.

I am pleased. Particularly since Saturday I Supermaned while running with my dogs

(Is that a word? Supermaned? Superman'd?)

and now my hip looks like buckshot and flip flops are uncomfortable. 

Stupid bruises.

Doesn't this sound like fun?!

Sexy time.

I'm a slug. Or a whale.

Day-eumm!

My ass is sore. 

That Buns o' Steel business is no joke! I am still sore. 

Yesterday I was a gigantic slug during workout all day. It was one of those workouts/ days where everything just felt heavy. 

That soreness was amplified during this morning's TRX workout.

So, TRX is really all about core. 

Core that I don't have. 

I mean, yes, I have a torso, but as far as I'm concerned, I could be filled with fluff. 

Before I decided to go back to school for nursing, and my mind was corrupted with biology, I wanted to do a self- portrait from the inside out. I thought it would be fun to draw all the possibilities of the insides of myself. Being stuffed like a doll or pinata or with cotton candy/ pink insulation were possibilities...

I digress...

So TRX has been ridiculous. 

Coaches are all "use your core!"

Using one's core only works if one has a core to use.

They're v. funny 'cause I've got no core muscles.

Imagine being in a push-up position with your feet in stirrups a foot (12") off the ground. 

Now, those stirrups are wiggly little beasts! I'm usually the one laying on my stomach, trying not to cry. My arms shake as I try to push myself up. 

Kate = beached whale.

Now you get the idea.

So, this morning, as I'm imitating a beached whale, you can imagine my absolute shock as I actually did a push-up. 

On the TRX.

Whoa.

You are invited!

You are cordially invited......

to Bring A Friend Day!

When: Tomorrow, Thursday, August 25

5:30-6:30 am. 

(as in 5:30 in the morning. And yes, that's before the sun comes up. Seeing sunrise sober is amazing, promise.)

Where: at Piedmont Park on the corner of 10th and Argonne

What to bring: Your awesome self, in workout clothes. 

(It may be helpful to sleep in them.)

A towel and some water. 

I also like a dry t-shirt for after.

Why: because it's fun!/ you want a great workout before going about your day/ you really want whip cream on that latte and have no other way of justifying it/ it will make your ass look amazing/ you've heard sunrise is spectacular and want to find out for yourself/ you want you time/ you wish to know if I am full of shit/ do I really need more reasons?/ good 'cause I'm tapped out

So, come. Check it out. See for yourself.

And then come back again next Friday, September 2 for College Colors Day. 

If you are thinking about coming out and joining this fun on a regular basis, I have a treat for you!!!!

Use discount code KATEHALF to register for $149 for four weeks. That juicy little price includes access to the Studio (think: free yoga, plus more TRX awesomeness!) and nutritional counseling.

I really hope to see you tomorrow!

Recap.

So this is what you missed this morning:

1. A giant whiff of honeysuckle. 

Fantastic way to start the day, no?

2. Laying face down in the grass. 

In the dark. 

On a towel. 

It was like being in bed. Or close enough. So much so that I could have slept, prone, at the base of the hill. Alas, this was not to be the case.

2. A burning sensation in your bum that doesn't come from last night's exotic cuisine.

3. Spandex.

It was a requirement for this morning's workout.

Because this is what we did:

Oh, yes.

Actually, I think we skipped this exercise.

And had I known that we were doing Buns of Steel... 

I would have worn a headband.

My mom could beat up your mom.

So my mom turned 65 the other day. 

We went out to eat to celebrate and catch up.

I have to say, my mom looks FANTASTIC!
Not "fantastic for her age" or some other bullshit you make up to try to make someone feel better about not looking 20 40. She looks straight up Wow. 

She's been doing an exercise program for a couple of months now...

Fifteen years ago she couldn't do a push up. Not one. Not even a modified one. Not even a little bit.

It was her fiftieth birthday. She thought she should have a beer. We thought she should do a push up. She discovered she still hated beer and that a push up was a physical impossibility.

When we met for brunch on her 65th birthday, I discovered she can do 40 push ups- in a minute! She can dead lift her body weight. She has a nicely defined line running down the side of her triceps-without flexing.

In short, should kick my ass.

Which is a problem. 

I'm not trying to get my butt kicked by my mom!
It is time to step up this game. 

(On the plus side, I do like the idea of her being here awhile...)

The workout was taken to the next level this morning. My limbs felt alien in their weight. And jumping? What?! Don't you know my hood name is White Girl Can't Jump!?
Wait. Jump up, then run? Who you foolin'?
NO.WAY.

Instructors say "bring it", I say "it has been brought en".
(Or however you say it.)
Yeah.
It was that kind of day.

It's hard to slack when four people who know you can push harder are cheering you on.
You should come see what I mean this Thursday- for free.
See you at 5:30 on the corner of 10th and Argonne!
x.

The Train to Crazy Town

So one of the boot camp instructors and I have been carpooling. We meet a couple of blocks from my house. I usually walk up to our meeting spot... and then keep walking because I'm wound up about being late while he's all, "meh. It'll happen."

Anyhoo, there is some crazy shit that happens within a few blocks of my house.

One of the earliest "You Might be on the Train to Crazy Town If" sightings was two neighbors, fists out, screaming at each other. A third party was trying to mediate these goings on. They stopped screaming as I walked past their house, staring at me as though I was an alien. They resumed screaming as soon as I passed their property line.

Please keep in mind that I live in an older neighborhood. My neighbor on one side is 93. The lady on the other side of me is in her early eighties- and still mows her grass(!). So these neighbors who were yelling were not exactly spring chickens.

Another day I went past a house BLARING gospel music. I heard the music from two blocks away. When I could finally see the house, I discovered all the lights were on; the house was like Las Vegas at Christmas.

Only no one was inside.

Yesterday a house alarm went off. It took forever for someone to turn it off. A few moments later, I heard what I expected to be a cat or raccoon in some trash cans in a nearby house. I turned to see that it was a man.  A man who wanted to talk to me.

Greeeeeeeat.

It's stupid dark and early and dark and I'm not wake and you want to talk?! 

Um, no thanks.

Go back to bed sir.

In juxtaposition to Mr. CreepyTown trying to talk to me while I was sleeping, I did see a brown bunny scampering across the road shortly thereafter.

Today I was thinking about yesterday morning and how I'm glad that it didn't suck like it could have/ man, Mom's gonna wonder if I have mace/ do I have awesome kung-fu moves? I don't think I want to find out/ I should watch my shadow 'cause it extends like fifteen feet in front of me so if I see someone else's shadow.../ Crap. That shadow is only like ten feet... maybe./ I'd better double check...

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggghhhhhhhhhh!

I scared all that is holy out of myself. 

With my shadow.

Yeah, it's like that. I passed between street lights and had multiple shadows, one of which was very short. 

And scary.

V happy I did not pee self. That would have been awkward.

It's no Atacama, but that doesn't mean it's easy

From yesterday:

Whoa.

What does it mean if I'm shaking already?

That I'm a sadist? Maybe.

That I'm going to die later today? Probably.

A full session of TRX rocked my face this morning. And the rest of me.

Usually we split boot campers in half and rotate on and off the TRX. We struggle though one exercise, get up, run to another area, do some torturous exercise, and run back for more TRX.

Today was different, though. I spent all morning on the TRX. I did things I'm pretty sure the body isn't supposed to do. I also did a few things that made me feel like a kid on a playground.

When I woke up this morning, I was (am!) sore in place that I'm not usually sore. My shoulders and hips, for example. (dammit, I don't need bigger shoulders!)

I also woke up to this:

Bad ass, no?

And by bad ass, I mean completely and totally nutters.

I saw a TV show that featured the Atacama last week. (I'm a nature junkie!) The Atacama is on the western side of Chile. Yes, right by the Pacific Ocean. So how this is the driest desert on earth is a little beyond me.

A friend of mine runs ultras. (OK. I have a few friends and co-workers that run crazy long distances. I have yet to step up to that crazy train. Anyhoo...) This particular friend put this video on bookface and it got me thinking:

Why do we push ourselves so hard? Why do we constantly feel the need to do more? To be more?

What is it about facing the rawness of nature and the edges of human survival that makes us feel whole? Does it bring us back to the parts of life that are most important? The triumph of human will?

I submit that this is (at least part of) the case.

The issue is that the feeling of "I did it!" doesn't last forever (sad face!), and so we seek out new challenges.

A full session of TRX was an interesting challenge. Not an "I wanna go find a culture as different from

my own as I possibly can and then see how we're the same. Or not" kind of challenge. Nor is it a "Kate versus the weather" or "Kate, you can find a dress, really" kind of challenge. But it was definitely a challenge. Like most sessions of boot camp, I was questioning what I was doing and how long I needed to do it. I was also questioning the mulch (in my pants?! Seriously?!).

being sick blows.

Friday night I came home from a long day/week and was debating about what to have for dinner when I had the distinct sensation of something being caught in my throat lungs. I coughed for a good five minutes to no avail. I felt like I'd been stung in the throat. Only I don't remember seeing a bug, much less inhaling one.

Saturday I met frioends at the river for a run. Everything felt slow and I blamed it on being tired. By the time I got home,  that I've been stung in the back of the throat feeling turned into holy shit I have to lie down cause I might cry otherwise. And I lost my voice (This is big. I've lost my voice maybe three times in my life. Crazy.). I think I was awake on Saturday the same number of hours I'd slept on any given weeknight of the past week.

I don't feel like the living dead today, but I do still feel like I've been stung in the back of the throat.

Which begs the question: 

Why do guys always want to do something when the female half of the pair is ill?

I was asking my sister this very question last night after That Handsome Man I'm Seeing asked if I wanted to go out to dinner. 

No, I don't wan to to go out to dinner. I don't want to leave the house. In fact, I think I'll go back to bed now, if that's alright.

Only my sister thought I meant "DO SOMETHING". 

Ahem.  I suppose there's that, too. 

OK. Wait. That's not the question. 

The question is: 

What the hell is wrong with me and when will I be better?

Being sick blows.

When I'm sick, it's like my world has frozen. Sometimes it's hard to remember everyone else's keeps going.

This is what happened between naps: 

Football started.

Rise up! ....dammit.

The Masters happened.

If you got to go, please know I am jealous. Even though I've only played golf once.

My mother showed me her off the cuff humor- in public. 

From Twitter: 

Person A: Life's too short to fold underpants.

Person B: You misspelled "Wear".

me: retweet!

Mom: Why waste time with the up and down? But thought clothing sans underwear was privledge of old age? #lifestooshort

me: Bwahahahahaha! I looooove my mom.

On Friday she sent me this text:

Mom: Thinking of putting earrings back in second hole. Good or trashy?

me: Bwahahaha! Ma, you're in your mid- sixites, for Chrissakes; who cares?!

At least, that's what I wanted to say...

And this:

That's the Rust Bucket. Without a bed.

Why, yes, thoses ARE zip ties holding the lights on the bed.
Sexy, no?

Let's play a game. It's called Fill in the Blank/ Entertain Me, I'm Sick.

So, last Friday I walked out of work and discovered a ginormous pool of gasoline under the truck. I called That Handsome Man I'm Seeing freaking out about exploding. He convinced me that the best solution was to come home. To drive the truck home. After much deliberation, I manged to do so-without exploding. 

We He figured out that there was a leak in the gas tank. A leak that cost me the better part of half a tank of gas. And while I was out, he took the bed off the Rust Bucket in order to fix this leak. Ahem. He cut the bed off in order to fix the leak. Off and up. 

The remains of the bed are now in the back yard, in pieces, waiting on a new bed so we have something to haul the old one away in.

While the bed of the truck was no prize (the rust pattern looked like a monster took a bite of the wheel wells on each side), having no bed makes it look...

 Le sigh.

You fill in the blank.

Leave your answer as a comment on the blog. 

I'm gonna go take (another) nap.

Liar, liar, pants on fire

I am a liar.

A big 'ol world class lair.

I've been talking about how amazing boot camp is for a minute now. 

I'm all, "I love it! I have lots of energy, I feel great, I went down a pants size, my ass has not ballooned into an awesome shelf (like it did when I was a rower (serious mega-ghetto booty!)), I can eat, and eat, and eat....blah, blah, blah...."

Yeah.

I lied.

Not about that part.

All of that is true.

I lied about the "boot camp is easy" part.

"Cause it is decidedly not. 

It started when the alarm went off this morning and I thought the world had ended. See, normally, bc is 4 days a week. We had a make up day on Wednesday for that lightning storm we decided not to play in last week. So I've been up at 4:45 every day this week.

(I can hear you now: "Pobrecita!" Shush. Don't make fun.) 

Normally, this would not be a big deal, except that there have been no naps this week. None.

And I love naps.

I have no idea how I remained vertical this long. My sister's voice echoes in my head, "I'm dying!".

So, maybe my A game stayed at home today. Or wherever it crashed out. Or, maybe bc was abnormally hard. Either way, it freaking sucked. Not because the activities weren't fun or didn't keep me busy, but because I am dying.

I thought about sleeping in. I really did. 

But I'm glad  didn't.

Because then I would have missed this: 

I totes put this in upside down and I'm not fixing it. Oops.

One of the boot campers planted watermelons. LOTS of watermelons. He showed up this morning with a truck full of them.
And they are the best watermelons I've ever had.
They totally made today's torture worth getting out of bed.

I love boot camp! It is awesome.

Monster

Yesterday I discovered a monster.

It lives inside me.  It always wants the same thing: food. 

And lots of it.

I had a smart boyfriend who used to convince me to stop whatever I was doing and join him for food "because he was hungry".  It took me forever to figure out that he was really saying, "Kate, you're being a bitch. Eat something."

So yesterday I got hungry. Really hungry.

Like, I want to eat the house and everything in it hungry. I never got to the bitchy part because I was constantly feeding my face. And still hungry.

I was hungry then, and I'm hungry now.

Very Hungry Caterpillar hungry.

Helping Little Hands

Kacike.org

There is a strange, large cult following for the caterpillar. 

Um, and btw, that is a grown up.

*Creepy*

I digress.

 My coworkers are laughing at me 'cause I can't stop eating, but I don't care hungry.

I'm gonna break the bank & buy the grocery store hungry.

Um, word to the wise: a side effect of boot camp is a faster metabolism.

Evidently.

Oh, and the monster comes free.

Reason # 356

Pain.

In nursing school, we are always talking about how it is impossible to know another's pain. 

We try to understand it, to describe it, and chart it. We OLDCARTS it: we ask about the onset, location, duration, character of the pain (dull, stabbing), aggravating and alleviating factors, related symptoms, treatment, and how it feels on a scale between 1 and 10. 

But in reality, this gives us no basis of comparison between one person and the next.

Which is perhaps why we, as humans, complain so much. 

No one understands me! No, really! It hurts! 

And why we continue to push past the pain. 

It is perhaps a shared ideology of pain and what happens when one transcends pain that encourages people to work out together. 

I know that training for half marathons and beyond is easier when I train with others.

And I can say, without a doubt, that doing 300 sit- ups is easier with others. 

And when broken into segments. 

And with a cheering section.

Which is reason # 356 why I love boot camp.

Does laughing so hard my stomach hurts count as a workout?

There are some things that make me laugh until I cry- every time I read them.

Here are two:

Well, this is awkward

You are not invited

You should read them. 

Now that you've read them, is your stomach being ripped open- from the inside? Are you crying?

Because I am. 

Great. I'm crying and my stomach hurts as badly as it does when we do serious core work in boot camp. So I wanna know if this counts as workout. 

Because I will market it as the new 20 minute abs. 

The gauntlet

Today we ran the gauntlet.

"Running the gauntlet (originally gantlet, and, rarely, gantlope or gantelope) is a form of physical punishment wherein a captive is compelled to run between two rows—a gauntlet—of soldiers who strike him as he passes." 

(Thanks, Wikipedia!)

Yes, there was running. 

Yes, it was punishing.

No, there were no soldiers waiting to strike me down.

Yes, I feel like jello.

Yes, I thought I might die.

No, I did not die. (!!!!)

I did get songs stuck in my head. At least for the running part.

But I always get song in my head when running.

During a particularly tough section of a half marathon a few years ago, three women were on the side of the road singing "ain't nobody gonna break my stride, oh no! I've go to keep on moving..."

I've sung it ever since.

Today it was Band of Skulls "I Know What I Am".

The exercise stations required counting, which takes a lot of focus. 

Especially before sun-up.

Focus I don't have.

Which meant stating over. 

Or realizing I was supposed to to 18 of an exercise when I'd done 30. 

Oops.

Can I get a counter thingy for next time?

I can hear one of my coaches now "Or you could just learn how to count".

Yeah,  thanks...

Wikipedia goes on to say that in some cases, those that made it through the gauntlet were forgiven for their crimes.

Oh, and hey- I learned why it is important to take a day off once in awhile.

Usually I get my ass kicked by almost everyone in camp.

Today I was the first one through.

(What is happening?!?!)

I tell you this because if I can do it, so can you.

No, it's not easy. 

But the best things never are.

 Another 4 week session of boot camp starts Monday.

Maybe I'll see you there?

For registration information, go here.

I'll try anything once.

This is a post from 3 weeks ago. What can I say? There are gremlins in my computer.




There is something to be said about the first time. 

I mean, I was so excited the first time I gave an injection, I about peed myself. 

Very contained excitement.

I'll try anything once. 

No, seriously. 

Anything.

*Mom, if you're reading this, earmuffs. Er, eye patches.*

Jump off the roof into the lake? OK. 
(If you know me, you know this white girl doesn't jump. So how it happened that I actually made the lake is beyond me.)

Top out a Corvette on Johnson Ferry Road? 
(Hey, I can't say everything I did in high school was all that smart.)

Drive Darrel Waltrip's race Car? Check.

Fly a plane? Yes. 
(And you should, too, given the opportunity. It is fun as all get out.)

Sex, drugs, rock and roll? You know this.

Snorkeling, rock climbing, surfing, skateboarding, whitewater canoeing = yes x 5.

Baking, home remodels (everything except electric; my hair is already crazy. Last thing I need is 110 volts.), gardening, jewelry making, camping, volunteering, collecting crap*, pouring iron... the list goes on.

*A side note about collecting crap: 

Me: That collection lasted about as long as driving that race car.

That Handsome Man I'm Seeing: What?! Who are you kidding? Have you been to your house? Do you know where you live?

The first times that really captivate me, though, are the ones that make me come back for more.

I guess that's one of the things I'm enjoying most about boot camp.

Every day it's something different. I like the "trying new things" part.

As I tried to post the other day but failed as technology eludes me there was a Gremlin in my computer,

"Every day we do something different. Yesterday I had my ass handed to me as we did a workout based on our triceps push ups. I hurt so badly afterwards, I couldn't type. My abs are still so sore and my arms are spaghetti.  Yet I dragged my sorry butt out of bed (I really should do something to make my bed less comfortable; it might make leaving it easier.) once again this morning to join the shenanegins planned for today.

I was rewarded with the fastest timed mile I've run since being on the crew team in college.

I'm thinking boot camp might have that rare appeal of making me come back for more."

Yeah, I'm still sore from that workout. I foam rolled my stomach last night (as proof of soreness/ stupidity). And I'm really not sure what I'm going to do next week while boot camp is on vay-cay. 
get lazy? sleep? mud wrestle? take up fishing or rock collecting? cry?
Who knows?!