I like big butts

And I cannot lie.
You other brothers can deny.
Deep in the jeans she's wearing.
I'm hooked and I can't stop staring.

-- Sir Mix Alot

If you were learning to walk in the 80's and not slapping your own bottom screaming 'BABY GOT BACK' Sir Mix Alot is foreign to you. You aren't missing much but his song is a classic of sorts - especially the part about the anaconda.

Here's me taking out the trash while my daughter takes my picture with my fancy new Blackberry. Point? My butt feels so much better!!! You know you've been wondering since my last post 3 weeks ago. (Hint: I'm working on consistency in my life.)

Since then, here's what's been happnin'...

* Got injured during a 20-mile run and had to take two weeks off.

* Became friends with the bike at the gym and pondered buying my own saddle cover. Ew.

* Saw the most awesomest PT who has me singing to the angels every time he kneads my calf.

* Tried a new restaurant.

* Talked to my friend Beth 375 times or so.

* Missed my parents.

* Forgot to be the tooth fairy.

* Had my son kill a mouse in my bathroom with his air soft gun.

Please don't be jealous of my cool life. Excitement: 2nd Marathon is 33 days away. I'm nervous to be back on my legs. Tomorrow the 2-week hiatus is over. No more cookie dough for breakfast. I hope my training will have my back and I won't throw up when I try a measly 5 on Tues. My coaches think I'll be fine with some minor adjustments to the weekday mileage plan. Long runs stay current with the training team. Good thing this week is a recovery week. 12 miles on Sunday.

Anyone have advice on losing/making up time while training?

Back to the anaconda.

So your girlfriend rolls a Honda, playin' workout tapes by Fonda

But Fonda ain't got a motor in the back of her Honda

My anaconda don't want none

Unless you've got buns, hun

He's so sweet the way he says 'hun', don't you think?

You know I'll be taking Sir Mix Alot wit' me on my next long run. But I don't want his anaconda. Just the memories of the Pi Beta Phi Thursday night dance parties of the late 80's. And I really don't want a big butt. Why do you think I run?!

Take a Risk

Run Better. Live Better.

Today I muse about a theme that touched me over at www.runningliving@blogspot.com . People say running is 'so mental' and it is. Mostly I thought mentally tough - the ability to push through pain. The guts and drive to just do it - go, go, go when you thought you couldn't. I've got that. To push from the inside so hard that you are unafraid to throw up. I'm not quite there yet. But...

Risk and Confidence.

The other elements. In running my goals and confidence to achieve them are 'safe' and (yikes!) too low. There's a balance to strike in all areas of our lives with reason and risk; hysteria and unbridled hope for all that we can live to be. Somewhere is the sweet spot - a place where life is as we never thought it could be. That glorious aha! and exhale as we look around at a totally new existence. Brought to the fore because we took a risk and felt confident to be what was inside all along. Faster, healthier, more fabulously authentic. We downplay and hibernate in safe zones because we have achieved a certain amount of admirable success. The tough part is emerging from these protected places. If we can go from a 5K to a 10K to 13.1, 26.2 and beyond - can't we do it faster with our own unique beautiful form and re merge more authentic and hungry to be that most perfect runner, friend, writer, lover, parent, worker that's been there all along?

We run 18 on Sunday and normally I feel nervous about a distance like that. It sounds too bloomin' long. Not today. It sounds good.

I muse and muse and muse...

Fuzz between your legs

Emergency! Violated by Fuzzbuster.

So I'm on the dreadmill the other night looking for an endorphin dump for my wretched mood and I am almosted violated by something huge and hairy in front of the whole YMCA. I am humping along at 7.3 with a 3.5 incline and this appears from behind.

At first I just see the tip. That's weird. Then that crazy stoking action . . . What if I stepped on that hairy thing? AND, what - you may wonder was the emergency? Me. I pulled the emergency cord ACCIDENTLY just a minute before because I was fiddling with my IPOD. Imagine the lurching forward action, flailing arms and legs to recover. Then I hit my head on the display screen. Digital "L's" (loser) appeared everywhere. I somehow got out of it without bruises. Apparently somebody thought I needed a good dusting. Can't a girl just embarass herself in peace. I left the Y without pride but lots of endorphins. Mission accomplished!

Say hi to your knee

Hi Knee. (Aw, I'm tellin'.)

Rah! Rah! Ree! kick em' the knee.
Rah! Rah! Rass! Kick 'em in the other knee...

Remember those little ditties? I am hiney-focused right now because mine hurts. I feel like I've been sitting on a stadium bench for extra innings without a 7th inning stretch. Like my butt bones (more eloquently known as sitz bones) have been bearing my body weight like Buddha in a trance for hours. It seems I've been rolling around on those protrusions like a drunk bowling pin. You get the picture. When I stand up, I'm golden. A runner friend had to stop training for a half marathon last year because he injured his butt. More eloquently known as his piriformis muscle. Could mine be talking to me because this turtle is trying to morph into a hare? My speed has improved this week but I like to sit down sometimes and right now my hind quarters are oh so tender. Could it be...

Enough about my butt. Or me. Anyone read any good books lately? Really. I need one. What about Pat Conroy's latest? Remember the opening line of Prince of Tides? It goes something like... the pungent aroma of the Charleston River reminds me of semen. Now that's a butt grabber. Wish I could write like that.