So!

Did I mention that I signed up for an 8K?  No?

Remember like months and months ago when I sort of accidentally took up running and said I was going to run a 5K?  And then I never mentioned it again, because I kind of hoped everyone would forget?

Well, a few weeks ago, some friends from work coerced me into signing up for the Shamrock Shuffle.  So it appears that I am running an 8K in a little more than two weeks.  Eep.

Now, I know for “serious runners” (ahem, Nilsa) the Shamrock Shuffle is a laughable little fun run which hardly even counts as a road race.  But when your personal longest outdoor run ever was previously 1 mile, and your personal longest treadmill run ever was previously 2 miles, an 8K is nothing to sneeze at.

In fact, I was pretty convinced I was not going to make it, so I sort of held off on telling you until now.

But! On Sunday I did 4.5 miles, which is almost the full race distance, so I think I might just be able to finish this thing.  Given my newfound confidence, I feel comfortable telling you about my 8K plan, which directly led to the following story:

To train for the Shuffle, I’ve been following a program.  (I know! It’s only 5 miles! Who needs to follow a PROGRAM to be able to run 5 miles?)  (I do!) According to the program, I was supposed to run 3 miles this morning.  I set my alarm for 6am to give myself plenty of time to get to the gym, run 3 miles, and shower before work.

(We can see where this is going, right?)

At 6:58 am, I bolt up in bed and look at the clock.  Shit.  Am a full hour behind schedule.  Cannot reschedule run for after work, as I am going wedding dress shopping with Bird, and then to drink champagne.  (Whee!  My life, it is SO HARD.  I KNOW.)  So I jump out of bed, throw on sweats, and jog to the gym.

At this point I’m running so late that I figure I only have time for a 20 minute run if I’m even going to have a prayer of getting to work on time.

“Hm,” I think to myself.  “What’s a way I could maximize my 20 minute run?…  I know!  Speed work!”

(Do I technically know what speed work is?  Not really.  It’s just a term I hear runner-types bandying about.  But I figure it must mean something like “try to run faster,” right?)

So I set the treadmill to 7.3 (super hard for me) and proceed to pound out 2 miles in 17 minutes.  I am elated! This is my fastest yet!  And I got a good workout in in less than 20 minutes!  I rule!  Am running goddess!

I slow the treadmill down to a stop, and step off to go get a towel to wipe the machine down aaaaaand…..my tired legs can’t support me and my right knee buckles and I completely and totally eat it on the (very grimy) gym floor.  At prime gym-going time.  In front of approximately 143 people.  Awesome!

So: speed work!  Makes you feel good about yourself for about 15 seconds, until you fall flat on your face and remember why you are not so much a runner.

(But I’m still doing the 8K.  Don’t let me wimp out.  If you don’t hear me talk about it on Monday the 30th, call me out, okay?)

You can see part 1, in which I demonstrate my awesome knowledge of physiology, here.

A friend and I semi-regularly attend a very early morning class at our gym called Muscle Max.

Muscle Max typically consists of approximately one million lunges and squats in rapid succession in crazy combinations, set to loud music.  The idea is that the complex series of moves plus the loud music plus the quick pace will distract you from the fact that you’re doing something hard and potentially dull, and will get your heart rate up so that by the end you feel both sore and sweaty.

Yesterday morning, our regular Muscle Max teacher was not there.  Now, regular teacher is not without her quirks — when she’s counting off the reps, she often slips into this high breathy voice that makes it sound like the very act of counting down from eight is enough to take her to her very happy place, if you know what I mean — but she’s our regular teacher, and it’s a good class, so we’re used to it.

Remember how when you were a kid and you walked into school to find you had a substitute it was a great moment?  It meant that you were going to get to goof around all day, probably watch a movie, not be held to account for really getting anything done?  Yeah, when it comes to classes at the gym, you can take that logic and shove it.

Substitute Muscle Maxer walks in and immediately instructs us to march in place.  We look ridiculous, but we obey.  Then she has us, and I quote, “flap your arms like a bird really fast while you toe touch side to side.”  I wish more than anything on earth that I could find a video that would demonstrate this maneuver to you, because while it did very little to warm up my muscles, it was VERY effective at making me look like an idiot.

She then proceeded to turn on her music.  Blaring out of the speakers comes a fun reggaeton beat, kind of a nice departure from the usual Madonna/MIA/Katy Perry stuff we usually get.

But then the next same came on and it was a very similar reggaeton song.  And then the next.  And the next.  And for a FULL HOUR, we listened to reggaeton.  (Except for one oddly-placed Los Lonely Boys song in the middle of the hour. I have no explanation. Perhaps her playlist is entitled “anything vaguely latin?”) Now, don’t get me wrong.  I actually kind of LIKE reggaeton.  But you know what it’s particularly good for?  DANCING.  (In 2006.)  You know what it is not good for?  Doing the world’s most mind-numbing series of endless reps of boring exercises, especially when the instructor counting them off is making no effort to do so in time to the music.

After the class, one of the other girls came up to me to chat about her frustration at missing our regular teacher.  I wholeheartedly agreed, and then she said “okay, I’ll see you – maybe at spinning tomorrow, you usually come to the Thursday class, right?” and I said “yeah, I do, I’ll see you tomorrow” and I realized- it appears that I’ve become one of those people who is a “regular” at my gym.  Odd.

I guess this is progress. But if I start mixing protein shakes/grunting on the treadmill/tanning, someone’s going to have to stage an intervention.