Bye Bye Fanny Pack! Not that I EVER wore one EVER. It was more like this, “MOM take OFF the FANNY PACK! That’s disgusting.” I mean, I said it in my own sweet special way that didn’t hurt her feelings at all.
Hello Boobie Pack!!!! Now we’re talking! Think about it. Would you like to stuff your ass? No. Would you like to or have you ever stuffed your bra? Admit it! You run with GU, wipes, iPods, sunglasses, chapstick, cell phones, car keys, doggie bags, breathe mints (never know who you gonna meet) and where OH where do you stuff it? Up your butt?
Nope. You stick it in your tits. Big ones, little ones, doesn’t matter ones, a bra is just one chest strapped handbag.
BUT Woe is Woman….the chaffing! The bits of Shot Blocks that crust to your chest….the GU that is heated to 98 degrees liquid mag-ma….the lost chapstick in a canyon….. OK I have never had this problem!!!! Witness true story below:
Margo: I can’t run because I had a biopsy and you can’t run and not have things jiggle.
Me: Yes I can. Nothing jiggles.
Margo: Oh well, I wouldn’t wish this upon you.
Me: Big boobs? No that would be a terrible thing to wish upon any flat chested girl.
BUT some women lose their chapstick. Hell, some women could probably lose a roast beef sandwich…..but…..no matter what…..we stuff. Well, LuLuLemon now has this new bra called The Marathon bra and wait for it….It has POCKETS!
I demonstrated my kangaroo Ta Tas to Saturday’s group and frankly, my chest hasn’t gotten that much attention since nursing. LOOK AT MY BOOBS EVERYBODY! THEY HAVE POCKETS!!!
Now that is a smart bra. That’s using the old
The actual running? It’s moving along. Saturday’s workout was alright. I felt alright. My paces were alright. It was just a workout and I still felt a little tired from Tough Enough. Tuesday I was back on a quiet track. The previous two weeks of track work I had notified my dear coach that, “These paces are too easy.”
“Too easy for what?” he replied.
Gulp. Can I have my little stone that I threw over there back please?
Tuesday, I headed back to my car post track to find my phone a glow. ”How’s the workout?”
Like he had to really ask.
It started off good. We did a cycle of fast 200′s and the recovery was to run a slightly slower 200 before I ran a much faster one. What? Exactly. Little to nope on recovery. I got through the first set punching the numbers on the fast sets and sort of skidding through the slow sets like a cat crossing ice. In other words, I tasted lung. Second course was a pile of 800s. Last week I did a bunch of 400s slower than these 800s. But, I got through those on target too and to Margo’s delight, “Wow! I can hear you breathe!”
Yep. That’s how I roll. Just breathing everyday….breathing. The old in and out. Margo, darling, I’m pretty sure Rusty could hear me breathing from the tarmac in bean town. Braker Braker. Yep over Red Rusty relay the message. That’s it, break her break her.
Third course was a second helping of these 200 devils. Fast-slow-fast-slow. This felt like surfing. No, not the kind of surfing where you actually stand up on the board. The other kind. The only kind I know. The kind of surfing where you stare at the waves and you imagine yourself riding it. Oh, you look great. You look in control. You paddle out and to your surprise….you get pummeled. Your breathe is stolen while your body rotates through a washing machine of sea foam. Up you pop spastically sucking in oxygen only to get pounded by another wave. You turn and swirl in the sea flinging your body upwards toward the light. Up you pop to spit and suck a sorrowful inhale of air and salt right before another freaking wave pounds you back to the churning floor. Eventually the set brakes and you paddle towards shore dragging your board behind you. Did you have fun surfing?
Yep. Yeppitdy. Yep. I love those fast-slow 200′s. Can I have another!?