I zumba'd.

Before I went, I asked some Facebook friends if I should go or not.  I got a myriad of responses including encouragement to go, and reassurance that I would like the class. My favorite comment though, was "Zumba is African for awkward".

How right they were.

I walked in the class right as it was starting (whats new?) and was forced to be in the back row. Back row rocks. It requires less face time with the super amped instructor, and allows you to be seen by fewer folks. EXCEPT at this gym.  The back row is also lined in windows that peer out onto the cardio and weight lifting floor.  So while I am shaking it in a spin move, I saw a shirt I recognized [crap]. Second spin move, I realize I see my neighbor who would no doubt have a field day with my participation in such a group fitness class [CRAP].

The women beside me were ridiculously nice. They asked me if it was my first time and what my name was and to ignore the glass wall behind me.

Yah right!  If I were out lifting weights and I saw a hippo in spandex trying to make latin moves look good on her, I'd have to stare too.  It's an ocular law, similar to a train wreck.

As nice as the women were, I was way too self conscious to do a class like that alone. Not too cool- don't get it twisted.

I was finally able to let go and have fun for a bit, but one spin move later and I jerked back to reality* seeing the vast array of co-workers, church friends and neighbors alike all jockeying for a position at the window to laugh at me.  Ok, not really, but it felt like that. 

*Note: Reality= Not having the smooth moves of a saucy minx latin dancer who had stolen the affection of all those watching regardless of my girth.  

It ended up being a decent work out.  I don't know if it was my head not letting me get into it that kept it from being a harder workout, or if it was just not supposed to be a shirt drencher.  Either way I would only give it a 6 for toughness.

If I were to go again I would have to go with a friend, or go to a new gym that had 4 walls surrounding the workout room.

Or start investing in disguises.


Dirty Filthy Liar

I completed my 4 miles, I will have you know.  Even though no one called me to jeer me on.

But I lied. Oooooooh I lied.  I said that I was going to train for the half.  I'm not.

I wanted to because I was seeking the glory. I wanted to because my sister was doing it. I wanted to because I wanted to tell people I was training for it.

Well, all of those reasons are crap. Say it with me- CRAP!  And I realized that.  So, instead I am going to train for the 8k which happens the same day and time as the half.  That's what is so great about Richmond.  You can run the full marathon, the half marathon or the 8k, which is 4.9 miles.

This year, I am going to be the one at the end of the race cheering for my sister (since my race is significantly shorter) instead of the other way around. BLAMO.  Get excited.  I know I am.

In other unrelated news, I bought tickets to a needtobreathe concert and I could not be more excited.  Who is coming with me?


Oh Hail No

After taking a short hiatus from running, I am picking back up to train for the Richmond half marathon. I really liked the course last year, and I especially liked the weather we have during the training; nice fall  afternoons, as opposed to the 4 miler, which entails training during the hot, humid, take any route in the shade- even if it's known to be a homeless hangout, summers of Virginia.  This is especially nice since I no longer belong to a gym, and will be forced to do all of my training outside.

Moving on... the Richmond half is in 9 weeks, thus commencing my first day of my training.  4 miles after work, I told myself yesterday.  NO excuses.

Too bad mother nature had some different ideas for what should happen around 5:00pm yesterday.  And none of these ideas included cardio of any kind.  Unless you count running from my car to my house, all the while imagining loosing an eye to a wayward piece of hail, and how I might make an eye patch look good.

As you can see form the pictures above, we were gifted with an unholy amount of hail.  So-  I will start tomororw.  Right? Right?
Someone call me around 5:00 tomorrow, and if I answer, yell at me.  Just yell terrible things in my ear about my gut, my third chin, and some scenario that includes me being found face down in a McDonalds bathroom 2 miles into the race.  Don't fail me, faithful blog readers.

Don't fail me like Mother Nature did yesterday.


Fun with bubbles

Nephew Duncan and his bubble hats.  What a trooper.

I call this his lopsided 'Marge'

And this is his Rocky and Bullwinkle look.

Yesterday we went to my parents house to celebrate their birthdays.  We ate, watched football, played the old game "Is it water or pee?",  and played with the nephew photographed above.  Charming little gathering.   :)

Happy birthdays Nonni and Papa!


Love letter to my juicer

Dear Juicer,
Ever since I watched a documentary about juicing I knew I needed you.  I wanted you in my home.

You're here. And you're amazing.  Your 30,000 RPMs are ferocious and strong, your pulp is dry and your juice is fantastic. Even if it makes me run to the bathroom after a comically short 10 minutes.  I feel so invigorated knowing my fruits and veggies are ingested so quickly and I can move onto the meat and starches I really love.

An apple, a cucumber, a carrot, kale, ginger. Yum.

You're the crowning glory of my kitchen.

Please don't ever leave me.