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....