The Olympics has me thinking about medals

One of the things that I was really looking forward to, while training for my last triathlon, was winning a medal.  Unless you finish among the top three (and most likely not even then), triathlon medals are not made of gold or silver or even bronze.  They are just a symbol of an accomplishment and I SO wanted one.  Though I completed the entire tri, technically I don't think that I qualified for a medal, since it took me so long to finish, but the guy running the race said that I could have one as long as I finished the race, no matter how long it took me. So when I crossed the finish line I got a medal.

I was so proud.  I wanted to wear it to the victory dinner, but I let my coach talk me out of it.  I, however, put the medal in my purse and slipped it on and off all of  that evening and the next day.  The next afternoon, as we boarded the plane to go home, I put my finishers medal around my neck and sat down in my seat.  The group of us sat in the same section of the plane and joked back and fourth amongst ourselves.  A guy in front of me noticed our banter and asked the typical plane questions:  "Where are you guys from?", "What were you doing in Tennessee?"...  I explained to him that we were all on the same triathlon team and were returning home after competing in a tri in Knoxville.  He asked how we did.  I explained that we all finished, and my teammates did well, but I was actually the winner.  That is why I am the only one wearing a medal.  I had him fooled.  :-)

Zombies, Run!

I am assuming that if anyone is reading my blog that they know by now that I HATE running.  Well, I just found a new app called "Zombies, Run!".  This app is an interactive game that is supposed to simulate you (the runner) running the streets, gathering supplies in order to save your town from the zombies all while being chased by them.  Did I explain it right?  I'm not sure, but it has a website if you want to look it up.  I haven't tried it yet but I am actually looking forward to running tonight.

Out of bed and on the road

After being at home for a week with the flu I decided to try my first workout in a long time.  I thought I would ease into it and decided to go for a run.  If I just can’t handle it I can always walk right?  (I really mostly walk anyway.)  I started out on a walk, but realized that after about a half a mile I felt really good.  I thought that I would try a run.  I told myself that I would run to that telephone pole up ahead.  I got there and felt good and ran to the street sigh a block ahead of that.  I then alternated walking and running for a total of three miles.  Now that I managed that I have no excuse to not workout tomorrow, bummer.  It was so easy falling into the excuse pit. 

Now I put it out there.  I’ve got to stay out of the pit and get on the road.  Once I put it in writing for others to read I feel I’ll be held more accountable.  

Still hate running.

'nough said.

I hate running.

Yesterday, while out on a run I decided that I just hate running.  When I started triathlon training I thought that the running would grow on me, once I got over the shin splints, once I got into better shape, once I got better sneakers, once I got more used to it.  No, it didn’t happen, and I don’t anticipate it happening any time soon.  I just hate running and I’ve come to terms with that.  

Sometimes training just doesn’t go the way you planned……

Last Saturday I volunteered at the LLS water stop for a Century ride to Montauk.  I knew that it would cut into my training hours, but it was for the team so I decided to help.   I had it all planned out.  I would just move my Saturday training to Sunday and my Sunday training to Monday.  Monday is supposed to be a day off so it would even up in the end. 

Well, on Sunday I had planned to take my grandmother to church at 9:30 and do the workouts after that.  At about 8:30 my grandmother asked to go the noon mass.  I couldn’t say no.  So I figured that I would get a run in before, take a shower, go to church, come home and get a swim in.  After church my grandmother asked me to take her to the supermarket. 

Now I don’t know if you readers have an Italian grandmother, but if you do you will know how important food is.  On Sunday morning, before I took her anywhere, Napoleon’s Army could have showed up on her door step asking to be fed.  I guarantee that she would have had enough food in the house to feed them a seven course meal.  She would have apologized throughout the entire meal because it was so small and puny, and if she only knew that they were coming then she could have made a real supper.  Now, during this seven course meal, if the apocalypse should happen to occur, and the army was forced to bunker down in my grandmother’s house for several weeks, they would continue to be well fed, and would emerge from her home fatter than they arrived.  My grandmother, of course,  was convinced that her cupboards were bare.  How do I refuse a little 93 year old lady a trip to the supermarket?  I knew that it would take several (no I am not kidding) hours, but it meant so much to her.  I could get in a swim when we get home.

Who should we run into at the market?  my uncle and his posse.  They invited us to his house for a late afternoon party.  Well, what’s one missed workout?

I’ll wake up early Monday morning, get a run in, go to the doctor for my blood test, and go to the gym after that.  I’ll just have to miss the swim.  I woke up early all rearing to go and was just about to make a pre-workout breakfast when I realized that I am not supposed to eat before a blood test.  I won’t workout on an empty stomach, so I went back to the bed and waited for my doctor’s appointment.  I got up, got dressed, grabbed my packed gym bag, went to the doctor then straight to the gym.  When I got there I grabbed my workout top, put it on, reached in, grabbed another workout top and realized that I had no workout pants.  I got back into my street clothes and went shopping. 

Hopefully I’ll get back on tract today.  

First fundraiser of the fall season

As part of my fundraising for the fall season I decided to get together with a few of my friends and have a tag sale.  I really didn’t want to send out letters and emails asking people for money again.  You can only do that so many times without being a (insert adjective here).  So my friends Rob and Tracy agreed to host one with me.  We decided that we would each gather stuff and whatever each of us sold would go to our individual fundraising.  Tracy and I both posted “GOT JUNK?” messages on facebook.  I’m not sure if Rob did or not. 

I collected every old picture frame, unused Christmas gift, hardcover book etc. from my house, rampaged my best friend’s house, and left flyers in mailboxes in my Grandmother’s neighborhood.

Rob, Tracy and I all live in apartments so we decided that we would hold the sale at my Grandmother’s house.  She lives in the Hamptons and at the beginning of the season people are always looking for wine glasses, small furniture, etc. to get their house prepared for the summer. 

A couple of my grandmother’s neighbors called me and told me that they had items to donate.  I went to their houses and picked up some beautiful things that ultimately sold.  Another neighbor, Steve, the nicest guy in the world, had a garage sale a few weeks before and promised to bring over the things that didn’t sell.  For weeks I drove out to my grandmother’s house with a car full of tag sale goods and unload them in her garage.  My mother had some things sent there too.  We had to do this sale early in the season, because you couldn’t even move in her garage by the end of May. 

Tracy backed out early, citing a friend coming to town that weekend.  Rob’s mother died just a few days before the sale.  He clearly had more important things to do.  So I was on my own. 

The morning of the sale Steve showed up in a truck filled with boxes.  Behind that truck was a trailer filled to the top with more boxes, all for the sale.  I’ve never seen so much stuff.  I must say, Steve I love you, but there is a reason most of this stuff did not sell the first time.  It was all junk, mismatched coffee mugs, children’s toys that were missing pieces, etc.  I was all by myself and I spent the entire day Saturday just going through the boxes unpacking the items inside and displaying what was presentable for sale. 

Saturday sucked!  It rained off and on.  I kept dragging things into and out of the garage.  Some things never made it out of the garage at all, and I never even got some of the boxes open.  I had a bunch of customers though and made over $250.  Sunday was much nicer.  It was sunny, but I did not make that many sales.  I priced things really low just because I wanted to get them off of my grandmother’s driveway.  I made a little over $100 that day.

The problem was: What do I do with all of the leftover stuff on Sunday afternoon?  There was TONS of stuff.  I had no problem sorting through it and taking the better of it to the Southampton Animal Shelter Thrift Shop.  So by mid afternoon I started packing boxes to bring there.  I took two car loads there and was packing the third carload when my uncle came out of the house wanting to know what I was going to do with all of the leftover items.  He clearly was worried that I was going to put them back in the garage, though I assured him that I wasn’t.  He started asking me what he should pack.  I still wanted to take time to go through things.  He was very anxious and kept on asking and asking so I told him to pack everything. 

Maybe it was good and maybe it was bad.  I think that I would have rescued some of the items, I know one that I would have found a use for since, but would I have rescued too many?  There is something liberating about not going through the items, so when I threw a box away I didn’t have second thoughts.  I had no idea if that particular box had the purse that I liked, or the beautiful wall hanging that I loved but had no place for.  I filled up the car three more times and lugged the three car loads to…(for grounds that I may incriminate myself I will not disclose the exact locations the unwanted items ended up.) . 

Lots of lifting, carrying, sore muscles, and boredom, early mornings and late nights: all for less than $400.  I wonder if I should have enjoyed my weekend and just written The Leukemia Lymphoma Society a check for $400. 

At least my friends and family got to get rid of a bunch of stuff.