Tag Archives: health

Lets Get Productive!

How To Have a Productive Weekend When Work is Slow and Your Best Friend is in Canada (MEDIOCRENINjA EDITION):

  1. Purchase an extremely large diabetes-inducing three layer triple chocolate cake.  Pretend said cake is the newest tier on the Food Guide Pyramid.  Consume said cake at every meal.  And snack time.  And during commercials.  And TV shows.  And bathroom breaks.
  2. Eat 3 frozen dinners to counterbalance the positive benefits of uncontrollable energy and shakiness the cake will induce.  You don’t want your friends thinking you’re TOO healthy.  They’ll be intimidated.
    NOTE: Make sure you heat the frozen dinners at 1 in the morning in the loudest possible microwave.
  3. Lovingly raise a brood of singing monsters to level 10 on your android phone, then proceed to throw phone into volcano and curse the skies when your account gets deleted.
  4. Enter an old lady’s house disguised as a plumber’s assistant.  Do everything in your power to procure a compliment on how you’re such a pretty plumber.
  5. Realize this is a backhanded compliment.
  6. Proceed to create old lady voodoo doll.
  7. Sneak into your neighbors’ backyard and take pictures of their cats.
    The more frightened they look, the better you're doing it.

    The more frightened they look, the better you’re doing it.


  8. Occupy your mind with an illogical crush on a kid you met three weeks a go.  Make sure to have had zero thoughts about said boy until exactly 3 weeks have passed.
  9. Scratch head in confusion and tell yourself you need to get out more.
  10. Finally decide to get out and head over to Office Max wearing jogging shorts.  Proceed to attract stalker employees for the duration of your stay.  Count this as a compliment.
    NOTE: wear sweat-stained shirt for optimal effect.
  11. Finally, REPEAT STEPS AS NECESSARY.  Throw in dinosaurs and chick flicks for an added bonus.

Half-Marathons are 97% Bueno

The time was 6:30 AM.  The temperature was somewhere between 30 degrees and Absolute Zero.  Though the conditions were less-than-optimal, the eager spirit of those wandering wayfarers pacing atop the mountainside alit the atmosphere with energy and anticipation.

My first half-marathon.

With a whole two weeks of training and a pocket full of running ambrosia (AKA Gu), I laced up my super high-tech $20 K-Mart running shoes and headed out the door, my soul filled with oblivious confidence and my mind ready to get it over with.  What started as a last-minute promise to my dad would now become the 6th greatest endeavor of my life, not counting the time I had consumed an entire watermelon.  I was vastly unprepared and overconfident as usual, and I was ready.

With the 30-minute busride to the top of the mountain came the realization as to just how impossibly LONG 13.1 miles is.  To put it into perspective: I was able to eat a second breakfast, take a nap, and defeat an evil chinese warlord before the bus was able to reach the start line.  Sheathing my sword, I stepped off the bus and into a crowd of people chaotically searching for bathrooms and emergency bananas.  Then suddenly a shot went off, and the pandemonium coalesced into a single body of people.

It had begun.

The young and fit, the saggy and old, the reborn middle-agers; we all gathered at the start line, a sense of hushed anticipation buzzing through the crowd.  600+ people from all walks of life readying themselves for one single goal: 13.1 miles.  The reasons and seasons for these people were all different…to get fit, to become sexy, to fight off depression, to find onesself, to lose onesself…but every single one of us was focused on that finish line.  For the next few hours we would be teammates, family, life support, One.  A sense of camaraderie I had yet to experience linked us together and pushed us to lengths we’d only dared dream of.  Synergy.  Determination. Success.

These were the grand emotions I experienced before I began my descent into Hell.

The first three miles were a breeze.  They always are.  Keeping a good 2 hour pace and only occasionally being passed up, I finally reached the Mile 4 marker which I now realize was the Gateway to Hades in disguise.  My lungs began to burn (from the sulfur of demons barbecuing innocence) as did my legs (its difficult to run atop the souls of the damned).  With every passing mile another one of my organs would shut down.  Arms?  Who needs them.  Liver?  More like DEADer (bad pun) (really bad pun) (I apologize).  Still trying to run more than walk, I pathetically kept pace with an ultra-fit octogenarian who had probably accomplished more in one day than I had in my entire lifetime.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned from running, its that anyone could be a runner. ANYONE.  They walk among us, unseen and undetected, but always present.  ALWAYS.

Anywho, if Mile 4 was the Gateway to Hell, than Mile 12 was the stairway out.  And it was anything but pleasant.  As I jogged/limped/walked toward the finish line, I could feel blood pooling in my shoes and every muscle in my entire body spontaneously combusting.  The burning in my legs I had experienced earlier had decided to kindly transform into a simpler but more effective form of pain, known as pure pain.  My legs were the very definition of pain.  With volunteers cheering/bullying me to finish, I sauntered across the finish line like a pimp who had lost all use of his kneecaps.

2 hours, 12 minutes.  A full 30 minutes faster than my anticipated finish time.  Am I a total boss? Yes, yes I am.  Am I an idiot?  Indeed.  Though I finished at a speed I had only dared dream of, my body experienced severe repercussions for the next week.  My stiff legs caused me to walk like someone who didn’t make it to the bathroom in time.  Soreness consumed my mind, body, and soul.  The processes of my brain shut down entirely.  I was one large bruise from head to toe.  And I do not regret a second of it.

Though there are consequences to running that would leave the un-runned man in a state of pure agony, the benefits outweigh the setbacks.  Firstly and foremost, running makes you sexy.  Your muscles get all sculpted and fit and you become a total beast.  You also get really high from all those natural drugs that hide in your body.  You get to join a very supportive (albeit mostly insane) community of runners.  There are medals.  And super stylish sweatsuits.  And a lot of milk for some reason.  And most importantly, food tastes A BAJILLION times better after running.  Like, over 9000.

And I would do anything for food.

Current Status: Waste-Basket.

Burnt-out:  It’s the word of the day.  Tomorrow’s word will be fatiguedwith Monday’s word being worn-down and exhausted inhabiting Tuesday’s word slot.  I’ve done entirely much more than I have ever done before, and it is awesome.   But I am done.  The sudden onslaught of half-marathons, socializing and final projects has left my mind, body, and living space in a state of horror.  For a girl who has almost quite literally done nothing in her life, doing “stuff” can be difficult.  I can handle it, but I need some serious R&R first.  T-Minus 31 days until freedom.  Until then, senioritis hits hard.  And I intend to hit back.

Detox,” the body screamed, “Detox me.”  French’s fried onions are my current poison of choice.  Dear God, I may even be addicted to this  faux salad topper.  I have a serious problem: I legitimately get addicted – cravings, withdrawals, the whole bit – to certain foods.  Bouillon cubes, apple cider and hot cocoa mix (straight up dry), ramen, chips… Disgustingly satisfying.  And horrendous for the body.  My goal is to become a certified health nut, but the harder I try to change my eating lifestyle, the harder I go to town with the craptastic food.  I am so frustrated.  My brain is like “detox~” but my body is like “CHICKEN NUGGETS!”  Part of the problem is stress.  I’m a stress-eater.  Another part is lack of sleep, which is something I will have to endure for 31 more days (or change my sleeping habits, but that’s a battle for a later time).  The last part of my problem is the fact that I possess no cooking skills with which to create delicious and nutritious meals.  But cooking…is my worst enemy.  My arch-nemesis.  I honestly feel like stabbing anything and everyone in the near vicinity every time I am tasked with creating sustenance for my homestead.

HOWEVER, I have a hippie-inspired goal of banishing all hatred from my life.  This includes turning the seething cauldron of loathing I feel towards cooking into a warm embrace of growth and camaraderie.  Plus I really need to learn how to take care of myself and my future brood.  And cooking healthy foods means eating healthy foods, which makes me fit, which makes me feel good.  And sexy.  And more capable.  And awesome.  And I’ll live a longer life than everyone else.  Which means I win.  I can only see good coming from this… it’s going to be a difficult battle, conquering food, but I shall triumph.