Beer is the answer, no matter the question...

3.5 miles yesterday, 3 miles today. I'm getting pretty good at this hamster wheel exercise called wogging. And I'm actually starting to enjoy, even look forward to, my time on the tread. I've even upped my speed. Did I let a little thing like a sold out race slow me down? Well, in all honesty, I'm already pretty slow. But no! I did not let it slow me further! I am pressing on! I am becoming addicted! I am patiently awaiting the results of the commitment to the wog to show on my arse. I'm awaiting that day where I don't look in the mirror and cringe. I await that day where my pants are just a bit too big. I await that day where I can wear a pair of shorts and not feel like a bowl of cottage cheese smushed into spandex. But, until that day comes, I will tan. In small doses. Because, let's be honest, tan fat looks better than white fat. Period.

If everything seems to be going right, you've obviously overlooked something...

Nothing ruins Friday like realizing it's only Monday. Or in this case Tuesday. And nothing ruins training for a half marathon like finding out that particular race you are training for is already SOLD OUT. Seriously?! Are you freaking kidding me?? Man. I really missed the boat on that one. What was I supposed to do? I had to make sure I had no injuries, I had to find somewhere for the boys to go during race time, and none of that happened. It wasn't meant to be. And the next half in that location is on Labor Day weekend, which, as it were, I have to work and cannot get out of. So there's that. Unfortunately, this fledgling runner is not meant to become a big girl runner just yet. Will that deter my training? Not at all. I've built up so far that it would be a shame to let it go. Oh well. Perhaps this set back is just to get me ready for the next push. You think?

I'm not sweating, I'm leaking awesomeness...

Between snow storms, ice closures, sick kids, and "too much salt on the road" (or some other utterly laughable reason to close school), getting the time and ability to write about wogging became just as difficult as performing said wog. However, that being said, I have wogged. Last week I logged several one milers, then a solid three miler, followed by and/or topped off by yesterday's magnificent five miler in which I, the slower than a turtle in molasses wogger, shaved 3.5 minutes off my last five mile time. Yay me! I was watching the British version of "Step Up," (yes, there was an apparent need to make a version of this across the pond), and had to keep myself from becoming one of the dancers in the movie in which I would start to let the rhythm move me and misstep. Had I actually not caught myself, it could have been both painful and hysterical. Alas, no harm no foul. There are less than three weeks from my big run, that's not much. My new qualm is not whether or not I'm ready. No, no. In fact, I recently learned a lady WALKED the entire 13.1 half marathon to finish it. I can do that! Heck yeah! I can mall walk my big ol' butt across that finish line like there's a shoe sale at the end! (Why am I so hung up on freaking shoes?!) Anyway, so my issue is a) registering, b) booking a hotel room, and c) figuring out my kids. Not figuring out their lives, their futures, their goals. No, I can't exactly run carrying them on my back. And the run is on a Sunday. So my conundrum is to figure out their plans before confirming mine. But it will work itself out. It always does. Normally. Usually. Somehow. So anyway. What I have learned about jogging/wogging/running is this: doing it daily (or as close to daily as possible) keeps the pain away. The more frequent the action is performed, the more the muscles are trained to perform in a certain way. The more they are trained, the more accustomed to the action they become. And the better you become. The faster you become. The better you become. Perhaps some of that "better" is a result of the fat melting away. Perhaps the pain is the fat crying, screaming as it vacates. Perhaps the sweat is the fat crying. Whatever. All I'm saying is, consistency works. So far. So good.

If it hurts, you know what, it was probably worth it...

Three items of note to report, one "high," one "not so high," and one "fairly low." First, on Tuesday, I wogged five miles. In one hour. Consistently. Now, for those of you keeping track that averages out to a 12 minute mile. Which, by all accounts, is extraordinarily slow. But it seems to be my "happy pace." It's the speed I can wog without wanting to vault off a bridge. And, and, and...I can finish the half marathon in under four hours, which is really the goal at this point. My trusty ally in Tuesday's quest was the last half of Jack Reacher, and I have determined that watching a good action flick does indeed make the time go by easier. But it eats up data on the phone plan. Oops. Okay, so we're going to discuss the "fairly low" portion before the "not so high." Did you know that during a "long run" you will, at some point, inevitably, have to go to the bathroom? It's as if the motion opens up the flood gates. It's as if things...nope, you know what? Let's not discuss that. Just know you'll have to go, so go before you go and know you'll need to go during! Okay, so yesterday's wog didn't go as wonderfully as Tuesdays. It hurt. Even though I recovery trained, I rolled my calves, quads, and hammies, it still hurt to wog. I did two measly miles and hauled my ass onto the stair mill. So Tuesday's epic high crashed into Wednesday's achy low. And I'm 40 days out-ish from the half. I guess all I can do is roll, motrin, and soak. And most of all, keep trying. Hell, even if I can only wog five miles of the 13.1, I can mall walk the $h!+ out of that last 8! I'll tackle it like there's a shoe sale at the end and all I have to do is make it in time! See? It's always good to have a plan B.

Even a broken clock is right twice a day...

Today's entry comes ahead of today's wog. I want this documented before I have time to retract what I'm about to say. Wogging is a little bit addictive. I am finding that the more I do it, the better I am getting. The easier each step becomes. The further I can wog at a time. The stronger I feel. The more I look forward to my daily wog. There. I said it. It's done. What am I learning? That you can retrain your brain, you can rewire your body, you can reshape your abilities. Now, I'm still no Marion Jones. I'll not be placing my name in any Olympic-hopeful hat. But slowly, ever so painstakingly slowly, it is becoming a part of me. And that's just fine.

13.1, because I'm only half crazy...

If the right shoe can change your life, the right attitude can change your direction. This is the first week I will attempt to wog five days instead of every other day. I wogged Friday, Sunday, and today. The new shoes, partnered with the correct inserts, have decreased the pain I was experiencing. That is making it easier to wog for longer. And low and behold I coerced my iPad to hook up with my iPhone and now I can watch Netflix whilst iWog! And it turns out that iCan get rid of my iBoredom on the iHamster Wheel! Okay too much silliness, I know. But it is a miracle. Through the joint efforts of Boondock Saints and Jack Reacher, I have successfully completed twenty miles (not all at once, but in various smaller portions)! Now, yes I realize there will be no television during the actual event. But I will have ample tunes serenading me along. But this, this glorious televised motion picture goodness that is magic is allowing me the ability to stay the course longer and longer each time! So now, instead of dreading the mind-numbing "plop plop" of my shoes hitting the tread, I now have entertainment to look forward to. Thank heavens for modern technology! I still wog slower than a turtle in molasses, but at least the length of time for me to wog without going insane with boredom is increasing. Now, maybe I should auction off space on my race tank-top...I'll be moving so slow, it's guaranteed that EVERYONE will see the advertisements!! Not a bad plan, eh?

I'm an expert in sluggish...

4.17 miles in 52 minutes. It was a great achievement for this half marathon neophyte. And I went in with a plan. A plan about the run itself, you ask? Why yes, sort of. I waltzed into the gym, armed with my iPad and debit card, prepared to download Netflix and see if watching a movie would somehow numb the boredom that unavoidably ensues on the hamster wheel. Success! Sort of. Netflix achieved, movie selected: Boondock Saints (love this movie, truly). I begin. The movie starts. Four minutes later....pause....for....buffering....AAAAGGHH!! Holy hell! Every minute I am having to hit "pause" and then "play!" It was too much. So I opened the movie on my phone. SAME ISSUE! Back to the iPad. NOW THE MOVIE WON'T PLAY AT ALL! What Machiavellian hell is this?!?!? What torture! What aggravation! And it was working, it truly was making the wog more enjoyable! I was happy as a clam! Why oh why?! Thus, my entertainment plan to make the wog a happy wog was foiled. So, alas, I turned to Pandora. Surely Pandora, in all of our time together, has listened to my pleas and thumbs down of songs that have no business being played on my finely tuned Shinedown station. Surely she won't let me down during this quest for success. NOPE! Seriously, oh ye-who-pulls-the-marionette-strings-of-song-choosing at Pandora, if you ever play Colbie Caillat on my Shinedown station- or TOOL for Christ's sake- I may hunt you down and....well, it won't be pretty. Therefore, I put on my iTunes and selected shuffle of Shinedown and Apocalyptica and finished my journey. But I wogged further than I did on Monday, and I figured out that I am less than nine miles from crossing the finish line (be it on feet or hands and knees). So today, heaven willing, I will go the full hour. Perhaps Netflix will cooperate, but maybe not. Perhaps Pandora will pull her head out of her a$$, but probably not. Perhaps I will breakdown and create a playlist to endure my torture. But probably not. :D

If two wrongs don't make a right, try three...

Maybe if the shoes actually fit, then things would have gone smoother. Maybe they just need time to be broken in? Perhaps the "new" needs time to be worn off. All things considered, yesterday's three mile wog was not terrible. I'm actually looking forward to today's wog. I have an average time of a twelve minute mile. That's not great, but it isn't the worst. So if you were to put me on the half marathon course tomorrow (which I would not recommend, not at all), I could finish it in just around three hours (ish). The hamster wheels at the gym have scene-run choices for you to watch while you work out. Chicago, Italy, Germany, etc. I chose Chicago for my wog yesterday, and found myself leaning left and right to avoid the people on the video. I also found myself wanting to slow down when the traffic lights on screen turned to yellow... What I wouldn't give to watch that silliness on the in-house recordings. Now, if only I could get my playlist perfect... Just a challenge for another day.

I didn't fall...the ground just needed a hug.

As the beautiful Cinderella once stated, "The right shoe can change your life." Or something like that. In my case, the wrong shoes were making my wog life hell! I was wearing the tennis shoe version of cinderblocks, which were causing unmitigated pain in my heels and ankles. Of course, the impact of my sizeable person slamming down repeatedly into the ground/treadmill probably wasn't helping, still...But today, folks, all of that will change! Hopefully for the better, cause I got some brand spankin' new kicks. They are light and airy, and it is my sincerest hope and wish that they come with magical, mystical capabilities and can transform my less-than-athletic ability into something resembling Usain Bolt. Then again, if that wish comes true I also want tattoos licked on by kittens and oxygen to fill my gas tank. As long as we're dreaming, I mean. So today I shall take my first wogging steps in my brand new soles and report back with the findings. In other news, it has been discovered that the better I get at wogging the worse I get walking in heels. It seems my center of gravity is not what it used to be, thus rendering me wobbly when in extreme attempts to be elegant and elevated. So I have added an addendum to my wog goal: tighter core strength in hopes of reconnecting with my vertical stamina to find my once graceful high-heeled self. Because as things stand right now, I have seen newborn giraffes execute steps with more agility than I (as I have begun resembling a half cooked noodle). That is all.

If it tastes good, it's probably bad for you....

So welcome to Thursday. May I start out by saying that this week has not gone entirely to plan. I figure I could lie, say I have wogged each day, but alas I am a terrible liar. On Tuesday I dressed in my (ahem) finest workout attire, climbed aboard the hamster wheel, and began to wog. What I learned quickly, suddenly even, is that one sports bra is insufficient for an event such as wogging to those who are, how should I say this, top heavy? Double sports bras are unmistakably vital in the quest for the half, and I, sadly, only donned one. I trotted for five minutes, then relieved my "chesticles" (and those poor persons jogging around me) from the painful bouncing that had ensued. Lesson learned. Again. I did get in a very nice leg and rear delt workout, so all was not lost. Yesterday, ah yesterday...Yesterday I ate rich, buttery, calorie laden food for the first time in weeks and it is safe to say my tummy was ill prepared for that particular change of pace. Therefore, no gym activity of any sort was attempted. It is what it is. So today will be yet another attempt, double sports bra in place, to jump back on the wheel and attempt three miles. I believe, oh yes I believe, I can do it. Hopefully today's little Public Service Announcement brought some peace of mind to those members of, or family members of, the mightily blessed top heavy members of today's athletic society. Oh, and the countdown? We're under three months til D-day. Tick tock....

I have two speeds, and the other one is slower....

2.1 miles in 25 minutes. The only way I could have possibly gone slower would have been to wog through actual molasses. However, in my defense, I was wheezing like an asthmatic recovering from a space-walk. So the goal is to add a half mile onto today's journey and see how my lungs hold up. Perhaps I could have wogged another .4 miles to even it out to 2.5, but I get so damn bored! It's the treadmill, it is so incredibly boring! I now understand how mice on a wheel will randomly cease running when the wheel is spinning at full speed- at least going round and round at 100 mph (mice speed, that is) gives a change of scenery! And in my imagination I hear them squealing, "Wheeee!" (or "WHEeeEEeeEE" as it were) as it goes! Anything to make that road to nowhere seem more entertaining! But I digress... On a positive note, mind you, I have cleaned up my nutrition intake to a very impressive 1200 calories, as well as eliminated all traces of alcohol from my day to make a total of... wait for it... eight days. That's quite a feat for me. Trying to become a runner at my current weight is only asking for a knee or hip replacement in the next three years. So, all in all, I am hoping to shed about twenty or so. But we'll see. Anyway, stay tuned for another positively enlightening rendition of the Wog Blog, and all its hijinks, which should take place sometime tomorrow...

Too bad bitching doesn't burn calories...

Without fail, production can breed disaster. What turned into a beautiful and pain-free wog on Monday led into a terrible Tuesday of the flu. So for a solid five days I was forced to cancel life as I knew it and succumb to the dredges of fever, body aches, and cough. Which, as it were, meant no exercise whatsoever mixed in with an unhealthy amount of barely eating. "Feed a cold, starve a fever" and all of that. In a family of four, three were stricken with the unwelcome and unwanted bug that fraught our home. So alas, today begins the journey anew. My seven year old, on the other hand, must have the immune system of an ancient ox. He was skipping and humming, singing and tumbling without a care in the world that three people he loved dearly were knocking on death's door. Okay, maybe death is a little melodramatic, but still. Not even a sniffle, nor a wayward "achoo" escaped his tiny mouth. Lucky devil. So, as I feel I have been granted a second chance at life (or 32nd, 45th, or 100th, if truth be told) I believe I will lace up those sneakers, double up that sports bra, and set the treadmill to a stealthy 4.5 and wog my way to March's victory. Or something like that. Welcome back!

Nature always sides with the hidden flaw--- Murphy

First off, Happy New Year to all! If you need to feel better about yourself, please know I was kid-free that joyous NYE and was still asleep hours before the ball dropped. C'est la vie? I did have two glasses of champagne, but on a whole I don't know that I will count that as a slip from the "diet." I'm very glad I began two days before the new year. For some odd reason I feel like I'm way more accomplished. It's silly, just two days more, but it gives a great sense of fulfillment. I have completed two workouts since I last wrote. Full disclosure: I was only able to wog a total of 50 minutes the two days combined, though I did participate in other cardio exercises (stairmill and Precor). It seems my MCL is not completely satisfied with my return to wogging. I shall press on, with copious amounts of stretching and ibuprofen. Not necessarily in that order. Let's discuss sleep for a moment. I'm a self-described "sleep whore." I need sleep. I love sleep. My bedroom is a cave, completely void of light from any source. That's how it must be. I miss getting nine or ten hours of sleep a night. I yearn for the days gone by where I could log nine blissful, glorious, solid hours a night. Now? No way. Only on lucky occasions do I get 8 solid straight. And I'm learning that changing my dietary habits is affecting my energy levels, which- combined with less hours of sleep, I'm not entirely happy. I have no idea how those Hollywood bi+ch*$ go without carbs. Seriously. What are they running on, jet fuel? (I really wanted to say "meth," but that's not funny...not even once...)And, add in the excessive amount of sore that my legs and buns are feeling today? A toxic combination of cranky. As in, the three flights of stairs I must climb to reach my office may as well be Everest and me a newborn. Pain. Lots and much pain. This is my payback from all the tortuous sessions I put my clients through at the gym... Speaking of dietary habits- do you have any idea how good sugar cookies and cheesecake bites are? Anyone? And they sit upon the top shelf of my refrigerator mocking me. Taunting me. Beckoning me with their sugary goodness that goes straight to my a$$. And below them are the green beans and chicken breasts, daring me to choose other than them. It's the food equivalent of the angel and devil upon my shoulders, whispering in my ears to choose them. Bastards. I will be strong. And, while we are on the subject of food, what is the adherence to eggs? Seriously? I am so tired of eating eggs that I believe if I must choke down one more jiggly, slippery egg (in any form!) I might lost what's left of my mind! Incredible, edible- my a$$! So, to surmise, dieting is probably my least favorite portion of the wog. A necessary evil, yet evil nonetheless. Til tomorrow....