Tacoma Marathon Race Recap

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I’m not entirely sure if I’ve had the time to fully process the outcome of this race, and in fact I think it may take a few days for it all to sink in. I can say, though, that this race was without question one of the most exhausting, humbling, and all-around intense experiences I have ever had. It is probably safe to say, as well, that this race was perhaps the most memorable—for better or for worse—that I’ll ever go through.

I’m going to start with the end (Tarantino style), just to set the stage for what the race resulted in, and then I’ll back-track with more details of how everything set up.

The good news about this race: I PR’ed, and I finished.

The bad news: I was carried across the finish line (and over the last .3 miles), and I spent an hour afterward in the medical tent being treated for severe heat stroke.

Rewind, rewind, rewind…

Leave you hanging much? Well, prepare for a lengthy race report…and I promise to flesh out the details that resulted in the most physically grueling experience I’ve ever been through.

Let’s start at the beginning of it all.

Not a detail missed. I was really feeling psyched for this race. I was nervous, obviously, but really I was just ready to see what I could do. I knew my training was right on with where I wanted it to be, I knew my taper was smart, and I certainly knew my carbo-loading went perfectly. I was ready to run.

It’s 5:30 am! It’s race day! Let’s run a marathon!

The race was quite small, but still well-run and organized. I managed to see most of the people I knew beforehand, which was very comforting and helped get me excited. My sister had come down for the race, and she managed to capture some corral pictures right before the gun went off.

PSYCHED!

Ready to run! (These photos seem so ironic right now…)

My strategy was to stick with the 3:40 pacer until the halfway point, and then try and chase down 3:35 if I was feeling up for it. The 3:40 pacer, as you might be able to tell from the above photo, had a ridiculously fantastic mustache, and I knew we were going to get along from the very start.

My sister was also able to capture this video right before the gun went off. I admit, I hate videos of myself, but I figured it’s a good way to get a glimpse into the beginning of race excitement:

And off we went! The weather was a perfect 45 degrees, slightly overcast, and ideal for racing conditions. The first few miles felt great, and although I could tell we were going a bit quicker than 3:40, I figured we’d settle into a proper pace before too long. The first 5 or so miles wound through Tacoma neighborhoods, and I really enjoyed seeing some of my old token running spots along the route. My legs felt springy, my knee didn’t hurt at all (which was perhaps my biggest worry), and I was feeling very comfortable with the 8:15 or so pace we were averaging.

At this point, I will admit, I was already a bit hesitant about our slightly faster speed. I knew that miles 10-22 were the hilly parts, and I wanted to save my strength for that, so I did fall a bit behind the group for a bit. I was trying very hard to run my own pace, as opposed to following the pacer, however we seemed to be right on par with one another, so this approach seemed do-able.

I hate to say that it was really only the first 10 miles that I can say I felt “good.” I started to feel tired much earlier than I expected, and than I knew I was in shape for, and I credited this to the hills, the humidity, and the speed. I didn’t feel too bad, but I knew that the way I was feeling around miles 12-16 was not how I should be feeling. I was staying more hydrated than normal, wary of the humidity and the exertion, and I was taking in a bit more fuel than normal as well.

At mile 16, my sister ran a bit with me, handed me a caffeine energy gel pack, and gave me a bit of encouragment. It was great to see her, but (as I told her) I was not feeling the way I knew I should have at that point.

moral support from CB

mile 16, on a hill, SHOCKING.

Between miles 16-19, I purposefully fell behind the 3:40 pacer. I wasn’t trusting his timing (which, rightfully so, because we were about 3 minutes ahead), and I trudged on myself. I was hoping that somehow the hills, which plagued nearly every mile since mile 11, would somehow let up a bit…but alas, they never really stopped. I was prepared for this, certainly, and I can’t necessarily say that they were worse than I expected—but I had never really had the experience of running that fast, for that long, with so many hills.

I was trying desperately to relax, to let the music energize me, and to remember that I was in sight of a BQ. Because I was…and I forced myself to focus on this goal. If I let myself wander away from that thought, all I would be thinking about was stopping—because that’s all I really wanted to do. Every so often, I would get a mini surge of energy—normally due to a quick gulp of my gel pack or a brief slowing at a water station—but truthfully my body was done around mile 20. My mind, however, was relentless, and despite my nausea, my aching legs, and my fuzzy brain, I maintained my speed and kept going.

And you know what else kept going? The hills. Despite all my mental and physical preparation for the hill factor in this race, they really seemed to be the biggest physical representation of my mental state over the last 10k. I muttered more curse words than I care to admit every single time I saw another upward slope ahead of me, and despite every molecule screaming inside of me to “STOP!” I kept going. I tried desperately to maintain the thought that I was well within sight of a BQ, however that thought—despite how bad I wanted it and how hard I had worked—was being completely eclipsed by my desire for it to be over.

On top of this battle, as well, I was so frustrated. I kept thinking, “This is not how I felt during my first marathon, why does it feel so hard now?” and I was mad at myself. I started cursing my failed race strategy, my ill-hill preparation, and my overly zealous attempt to make this race—one that I KNEW was a hard course—my try at a BQ.

I kept going though, fast, and at this point I was about 1 minute away from the 3:35 pacer (BQ time for women.) Based on my own timing, I knew that I had about 28 minutes to run the last 5k—a task that would be a piece of cake on any other day. I tried to remember that I knew I could do it, that the ultimate, ideal goal of a BQ was still within my sight—despite my body rejecting every bit of mental encouragement.

However, my body’s desire for the race to be over had finally surpassed my desire to BQ, and it would offer no waves, surges, or even glimpses of energy. It was done. My brain, however, was still on a mission. I was very back and forth between these two conflicting feelings. I think at this point, my brain had overtaken my body’s desire to stop, and I was running solely on the dream of completing the goal. All I could focus on were the mile markers, because all I wanted was for it to be over—and of course, the mile markers…22, 23, 24 were going by slower than any other race I’ve ever been in. At mile 24, my vision was getting a bit distorted, and all I wanted to do was close my eyes. I felt so tired that I was overwhelmed with a feeling of wanting to sleep. In fact, I think I did close my eyes for a few paces in there. Truthfully, I’m having a hard time actually remembering things after mile 22.

When I saw mile 25, I felt the smallest morsel of encouraging energy—my first since way back in the middle of the race. I knew if I just kept going, just a little bit further, I would be done and I would be under 3:35. I had never been so overwhelmed with the desire to be done with something than I was at this point—which was frustrating. I know how to push through pain, I should be so excited…I’m about to qualify for Boston, mind over matter…these were the only thoughts I could use to make my body keep going.

I rounded the final corner of mile 25, and I spotted both the mile 26 marker and the finish line. At this point though, my desperate running was only focused on finishing. I wanted nothing more than to be done—this desire had officially overwhelmed both my body and my brain, and although I was still within reach of a 3:35 finish time, all I could attempt to do was finish.

I was hunched over at this point, the picture of physical exhaustion, and all at once, just before I crossed the mile 26 marker, I collapsed.

My legs had given out and they crumpled beneath me. I tried desperately to get up, over and over, but I couldn’t even get halfway up without completely falling over again. In my head I thought, “No, no…not now, not when I’m so close!” but I was also in a panic for help. There weren’t too many runners around me, and I was just far enough away from the finish that there weren’t any spectators or volunteers near me. My brain was so warped and my body was so overheated that I could barely managed to look around, let alone call out for help. All at once, though, two half-marathon finishers stopped their race and offered to help. I pleaded for them to go on and finish their races, but instead they so graciously took me on either side of them and carried me.

I am a bit fuzzy on the memories of exactly how everything afterward went. I remember the woman who picked me up feeding me a chocolate GU, which I definitely did not want, but she insisted (understandably…since I was so decrepit at that point) and I remember insisting that they let me walk over the finish line myself. They had to essentially carry me, since I was unable to put any weight on my legs, and eventually a few volunteers caught wind of what was going on and ran over to help out.

From the sidelines (where Corey, BF, and my friend Kawika were standing), they saw that the Medical Director had been alerted that someone needed attention. As soon as they saw it was me, BF jumped over the barrier, and ran over to me as well (a miraculous feat, given he had incredibly tired half-marathon legs himself). Unfortunately, I actually don’t remember this—but apparently I was very gracious, insistent upon crossing the finish line myself, and  I said it was okay to take pictures (hey, perhaps my good humor doesn’t entirely disappear when my physical capabilities do). With hoards of people around me as we got to the finish line, they let me down to walk about three steps over the actual line, and I was immediately picked up by the Medical Director and taken to the medical tent.

The next several minutes are a big blur, but I remember a lot of doctors around me, while I was laying on a table, taking my vitals, putting an IV in me, and asking me questions. I wasn’t really able to talk, so they were mainly talking to me, telling me I would be okay and instructing me on what they needed to do. They took my temperature (rectally, which was awesome…except that I didn’t really care at the time) and my temperature was at 105.

At this point, I regained some consciousness, and I was very scared. I repeatedly asked them if I was going to be okay, and they assured me I would, but I needed to be cooled down immediately. They lifted me, very gingerly since my muscles were cramping so badly, and completely immersed me in a huge ice bath. I regained a lot of sensation at this point, and the ice bath felt so amazingly good. They covered every part of me with ice, ensuring I would cool down, and they started asking me questions to gauge my mental state. I was able to answer all their questions coherently (for which I was proud of myself) and they let BF come in to be with me. My left hamstring and my right calf were cramping so badly, and two people had to continually clench and massage them to make the seizing stop. I was completely unable to move my legs without my muscles clenching, and I remember this being the most painful part.

They kept me in the bath for a while, making sure that my core temperature was dropping, and I began to be coherent enough to ask BF how his race went. He ran a 1:47…and despite my current state of being, I was (and am) SO proud of him! The doctors kept asking me questions and letting me know I’d be okay, and at some point while I was still in the ice bath I became stable enough that my emotions got the best of me. I burst into tears, completely overwhelmed with everything, and mainly concerned for the state of my running career. I said out loud, “What if I never want to run a marathon again? What if I’m done forever?” which was a paralyzing fear, despite the fact that I had just been chewed up and spit out by the marathon. BF…in all his logical and rational thinking…said, “Babe, if you are saying ‘What if?’ at this point in time, I think it’s safe to say you’ll be fine.”

Eventually, I got myself together, and the doctors were able to carefully hoist me out of the bath. My legs continued to cramp pretty violently, and they had to keep my legs lifted at a 90   degree angle to drain the blood. They took my temperature again, and I was down to 101…which they seemed very impressed by. I felt very feverish, and the thought of sitting up was very daunting. They eventually began giving me Gatorade, which was sitting fine, and they took it as a good sign. Eventually, they very slowly hoisted me up so I was sitting up-right on the table. I felt dizzy and flu-like, but definitely much better.

Slowly but surely (and because this detailing is getting a bit long), I was able to get up walk very slowly. I was absolutely freezing, given the fact that my clothes were soaking wet and I had just been in ice-cold water (and just ran a marathon), and they took me outside with a space blanket to warm up. I was able to meet up with my group at this point, and eventually I regained both my cognitive and (limited) physical abilities. The mustache pacer actually came by as well, as he’d seen the less-than-glorious finish, to check and see how I was doing. The doctors told me that I had to pee before they would let me go (which I accomplished) and we were allowed to leave.

From entering the medical tent to leaving, it took approximately an hour, and by the time we were allowed to leave all I wanted to do was changed my clothes, warm up, and sleep.

Afterward, everything was somewhat post-race standard. I was able to congratulate some of my fellow marathoners, we got a big farm breakfast, and I spent the afternoon laying on the couch. Unfortunately, I was not left with the accomplished, satisfying feeling of finishing a marathon. After my first marathon, I was on a high of feeling so happy and proud of myself, and despite the fact that I did finish this race…the aftermath took away from the whole “I finished a marathon” experience. I felt a whole range of emotions, but primarily I felt grateful and scared. I cannot express how thankful I am that such a thing happened so close to the finish line and there were people around to help. I can’t imagine what would have happened if this had occurred any earlier. I was blown away by how helpful the volunteers, the runners that picked me up, the medical staff, and “my people” were through this whole thing. I tried to thank them all as much as I could, and I wish I could fully express just how gracious and humbled I am to have had such incredible support.

Like nothing happened, right?

After assuring my family that everything was okay, the only feeling I could really feel was exhausted. Marathon exhausted, certainly, but mainly emotionally and physically drained from the whole experience. Unfortunately, I wasn’t actually able to sleep as well as I’d hoped last night—my heart rate was still a bit high, and I was unable to rifle through all the different thoughts going through my head.

Today, despite my very sore legs and general fatigue, I feel much better. Like I said, I can’t really begin to articulate how this experience has affected me—because it all hasn’t really processed yet. I feel a combination of embarrassment, fear, shock, and stupidity. I can’t really help but be critical of myself, for running such a physically demanding race at the rate I was and for not obeying the demands of my body. I believe this feeling will go away—because honestly, I know that I am exactly the type of runner that this would happen to. My brain was stronger than my body, which most of the time is a great strength, but this time it got the best of me.

I will post later on my feelings following this whole experience, once they’ve all sunk in a bit more, but at this point I can say this: I know how it feels to push to the absolute furthest points of my limits, and there is not one more ounce of stamina or mental toughness I could have given into that race. Unfortunately, I was over my limits—and despite my will to keep trying, my body’s resistance finally overcame my mental determination.

I am sure I will take more away from this experience than I can actually wrap my head around, but for now I am going to let some rest, reflection, and recuperation help rebuild both my mental and physical strength.

And if you were curious, my official finish time was just over 3:44…three minutes faster than my first marathon. I find this humorous, and although this is a PR, I do think it should have a big fat asterisk next to it. Also, somehow in the midst of my collapse and being picked up…I managed to stop my watch at 3:33, meaning that had I been able to keep going, I’m pretty sure I would have been able to pull it out. Am I disappointed? Sure. But I also know that there was really nothing more I could have done…and I’m actually comforted in knowing that I was right there, and had the course been more forgiving, there is no question I would have had it.

Still got my medal! And it has a bottle opener on it…awesome.

So, there you are. A very long, detailed explanation of one of the more intense experiences I’ve ever had in my life. Out of all the scenarios that could have happened yesterday, this occurrence never even crossed my mind, and although I know these collapses can happen…I never imagined it would happen to me. I can assure you though that I am feeling better, I am going to continue to take care of myself, and I have no doubt that the lessons I draw from this experience will eventually make me a much stronger and prepared runner. That is, of course, when running doesn’t sound like the most painful thing on Earth.

Thank you for reading and for everyone’s unbelievable support. Congratulations to BF for his PR, and to all the runners who raced yesterday! Tacoma was without a doubt the hardest course I’ve ever competed on, and I admire every single one of you for taking it on.

Lastly, despite the shock and the drama that occurred at the end of this race, I have no doubt that the things I will take away will be more influential and more beneficial than any BQ or goal time could ever give me. And mark my words, the marathon may have scared the crap out of me yesterday…but I am nowhere near done with it.

Seattle Blogger Meet-Up Info

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Today, I had the great opportunity to meet up with fellow Seattle area runners/bloggers for a lunch get-together in West Seattle! It was great to meet everyone, and I can’t wait until it can happen again. Although a lot of us already have each other’s blog information…here’s everyone’s names and respective blogs. Follow and Tweet away! Also, a BIG thanks to Run Pretty Far for sending some shweet shwag as well! Colorful arm sleeves and headbands galore!

Great to meet all you ladies, happy running, and I’m excited to see you all again!

Erika- www.thisspartanwill.com

Julie- www.tri-ingtobeathletic.com

Stacie- www.skippinginseattle.wordpress.com

Rebecca- www.lulurunnerlove.wordpress.com

Allison- no blog…yet 🙂 Twitter handle: allison.raines

Zoe- www.runzoerun.com

Nicole- www.ricoleruns.com

Robyn- www.runbirdierun.com

www.pensivepumpkin.blogspot.com…I did know if you wanted your name posted 🙂

Emily- findingblissforme.wordpress.com

Thankfulness and Marathon Goals!

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Good afternoon!

I hope you all have had pleasant weeks and are ready for the weekend. This week has seen a lot of ups and downs for me—mostly ups, but there were some dark spots in there, and I’m happy to say I think I’ve managed to scuttle away from them. (But don’t let the Taper Beast hear that, one whiff of calmness and he barges back in full force.) So I’m still treading lightly, paying attention to my actions and reactions, but I’m hoping I’ve exited the Crazy Land of Taper-dom and can continue merrily on my way through Nerve City and Psyched Up Forest. Both of these places, though still filled with a good deal of angst and stomach butterflies, are much more do-able than Crazy Land.

I am nervous, there is no doubt about it. I have to very deliberately and consciously get myself to focus on anything other than race day. My thoughts are consumed by race strategy, fueling, avoiding chafing, and making it through without my knee exploding. My knee is much better than when bursitis struck before, and I am confident that I can race on it, however 26.2 miles is a long way for healthy body parts, so needless to say, I’m wary for my persnickety bursa sack. Lots of stretching, icing, and Aleve-ing before then.

In other news, I SUCK at dress rehearsal runs. Apparently all my pacing abilities (limited to begin with) go completely AWOL when I’m tapering, and the whole “GO SLOW” mantra that everyone preaches so vehemently actually registers as “Go ahead and run 30 seconds faster than your GMP.” Yesterday’s 4 mile run would have looked superb in an official race, let’s just say.

Whoops. Maybe I should get a Garmin after all.

For those of you who don’t know, a dress rehearsal run is exactly like a stage dress rehearsal…you gear up in everything you’ll wear on race day to ensure nothing rubs wrong or fits weird, but mainly I think its psychological benefits are the greatest. This run got me pumped big time, and it felt good to be running in my race day attire. Also, it just felt good to be running.

BUT. The good news about this way-too-fast-taper-fail run was that it showed just how many energy reserves I’m garnering. This whole “resting” thing is actually, physiologically benefiting big time, and despite my better efforts to just rid myself of all this lovely rest yesterday, I’m hoping that this is a good sign for how I’ll feel on race day.

The weather report looks superb for Sunday so far, and now commences the time to start carb-filling and hydrating like a serious person.

Moving on, today is Friday, meaning that Friday Favorites is typically the name of the game. As I’ve done a few times, I’m going to switch Friday Favorites to recollecting some of the things I’m thankful for. This week has been filled with a lot of excitement and charged energy, and although some of it can get overwhelming, ultimately I am unbelievably grateful for it all. Many thanks to Ali for reminding us all weekly to give thanks.

And now…GRATITUDE!

I am thankful for boxes of cookies.

Time between opening package and stuffing face with cookie: .7 seconds.

Last week, my beloved friend Katie—who moved to Missoula last year and I miss TERRIBLY—sent me this glorious package of her chocolate cookies for my birthday. Now, unless you have tried these cookies, you cannot fully begin to appreciate a)how big of a deal it was to receive them and b)how kind it really was for her to send them.

These cookies ARE THE BEST. Katie has some crazy secret recipe that she has worked and reworked and the result are the most chewy, buttery, chocolatey, and I-don’t-care-how-bad-these-are-for-me cookies EVER. I lose all sense of fullness, health, and really general sense of reality when these cookies are around, and they have made up the majority of my diet since they arrived. KT, you are the best.

I am thankful for huge great danes.

WARNING: Creepy female dog photographer, stalking puppies all over West Seattle.

I am kind of afraid of great danes, but I kind of love them too. They are as large as a small pony, and it seems like they have been everywhere recently. BF, who is a big dog fanatic, is obsessed (and may have recently bought a book called Giant George which is about a 245 pound great dane who needs his own size queen bed), and recently I’ve jumped on the bandwagon. I’m not sure about owning one, but I really enjoy seeing great danes taking their owners on walks all over the place.

I am thankful for the ability to go and visit my family.

I really, really love whenever I get to go see my family. We laugh a lot, we play games, we eat, we watch Jeopardy, and we love each other. It’s a great treat to be able to go home, and I’m very thankful that I have the means and the time to be able to jet off to Colorado every so often. My next trip will be for baby boy’s graduation (sorry Scott, you will never shed that nickname), and I can’t wait. If anyone was every ready for college, it’s my brother, and not only can I not wait for him to experience college, but he’ll be going to Seattle U…a mere 10 minutes from me!! Get ready Scott, you probably won’t make any real friends.

“Sorry guys, my sister is taking me somewhere again and I can’t go to the party.”

That’s totally how it’s gonna happen.

I am thankful for people who will touch feet.

I know you are SO GLAD you have now seen my feet. Can you guess which toenail is actually completely black?

That sounded weird. And truth be told, I actually don’t have the foot paranoia that so many claim to have. But, that doesn’t mean I would ever give a stranger—or even someone I know—a pedicure. And I especially would never give myself a pedicure. I’m scared of my own feet, and I go to all the lengths I can to avoid people looking at my feet. Not only do I naturally have Fred Flintstone-width feet and awkwardly shaped pinkie toes, but the damage done to my toenails from running is somewhat horrifying. As I’ve said before, two of my toenails are close to falling off, and just about every other toe has either a blister or a callous. It’s sexy.

Moving on. I never get pedicures, literally ever, except for right before big races. For some reason back when I ran my first half, I decided to randomly get a pedicure during the week before. Since then, I’ve gotten my toes done before every big race—and it’s a tradition I am mighty pleased with. This marathon taper time was no different, and I got to spend an hour getting clipped, rubbed, painted, and all that fun girlie toe stuff. The woman, despite not saying ONE word to me the entire time, did a fantastic job, and she handled my mangled foots without a blink. Oh, and she had to use TWO extra coats on my black toenails. Literally doubled the amount of color on each. But a job well done, and I am thankful for her.

Wow that was a lot of talk about feet.

I am thankful for Nuun, Aleve, my foam roller, and Yoga On Demand.

All of these things are helping to soothe, both mentally and physically, my angst about the race on Sunday. Sure, I know I’ve done the training and I know there really isn’t anything more I can do to get ready. But the fact that I can count on each of these things to help me feel better prepared, rested, hydrated, etc. is keeping my nerves at bay.


I am thankful for the weather report for race day.

cmoooonnnnnnn Sunday!

I realize I just 100% jinxed the crap out of the happy-sunny forecast, but let’s hope for the best still. As you could probably guess, the weather in Seattle is not exactly dependable…and so everyone, not just runners, treat the forecast like a toddler. They watch it like a hawk, they talk about it with anyone and everyone, and they can be equally irritated and giddy over it within an hour time frame. So, needless to say, I’ve been in full-fledged weather-stalking mode, and as of right now it’s looking pretty ideal. I actually have yet to run a long race in sunny weather (isn’t that nuts?) so I’m hoping for a first this time around.

I am thankful for free cake.

complimentary white chocolate mousse cake + candle=happy birthday girl!

I am thankful that no matter what happens on Sunday, there will be a Lakers vs. Nuggets game and pizza afterwards.

I’m sorry….no matter what you think about the Lakers or basketball, this is adorable.

I might completely blow up on Sunday, or I might exceed all my expectations. I really don’t know, a lot can happen over 26.2 miles, and sometimes no matter how much prep work you put in, things don’t pan out right. I’m prepared for this (and in case I do blow up and cry for weeks afterward, remind me that I said this ahead of time). However, I am thankful for pre-planning. Specifically food pre-planning—and one thing is for sure that PR or no PR, there will be ample pizza and beer consumption on Sunday night, as well as a viewing of the Lakers winning Game 4 of the playoffs versus the Nuggets, after which I laugh in BF’s face a friendly basketball game between two teams that BF and I happen to heavily separately favor.

I am thankful that I have the opportunity to run a marathon.

I talk a lot about time goals and PR goals and BQing a lot, but when all is said and done—more than anything all I want to do is run. I am so grateful to have the ability to run, and to run 26.2 miles, no matter how fast or slow it might be. After experiencing an injury scare earlier in this training season and reading all about so many bloggers out there that are currently sidelined by injury, my perspective has become a lot more appreciative and humbled.

If you would have told me 2 years ago that I would be running my second marathon on Sunday, I would never have believed you. We all know how that story actually ends, and in two days all the hours and weeks of preparation will come to a 3:xx:xx hour finale. There are some very definite times that I have associated with “I would love to get (this),” “I would be alright getting (this),” and “I guess I’ll be able to live with (this).” However, when all is said and done, Sunday is just another day I get to run…and that, despite any PR or not, is something I am very thankful for.

 

And finally, I am thankful for my readers, my family, and my friends who have and continue to support me through the whole training process:

You all inspire me every day, and you all have provided me with so much strength, encouragement, and guidance in both running and life. The people I surround myself with, including those in the blog world, are so much of the reason I am able to continue running, writing, and believing in myself, and I could not be more thankful for everyone of you.

 

Alright, now that I’ve gotten sappy, let’s end on a bit more of a practical note, shall we?

I have been incredibly allusive and non-disclosing about my time goals for this race. And why? Well, I get scared to say them out loud—because if they don’t happen, well that makes it all the more disappointing knowing that other people know I didn’t live up to my expectations. But, I realized that it’s not fair to share every ounce of my training and race information with you without giving you the dirty time details.

So, if you care to know…here’s my plan for Sunday. There are two pacers I have my eye on. 3:40 and 3:35. If all goes well, I am going to stick near the 3:40 pacer for the first half. If I’m up for it and feeling alright, I’m planning on chasing down the 3:35 pacer after mile 13. We’ll see what happens…perhaps something entirely different…but for now that is my race plan.

I promise I’ll stop typing now…and if you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading, and have yourself a glorious weekend, and I’ll see you on the other side of 26.2 miles!!

Tacoma, BRING IT.


 

 

Beware: Taper-Tantrum Diva Ahead

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You guys, I really thought I had everything under control…really, I did.

Although I’m not usually a big fan of taper-time (especially the final week), I was feeling pretty good about it. I was happy with my training, I felt ready, and I knew that all that stood between me and a 3:xx:xx finish time (not that’s not cryptic AT ALL) was a week of resting, hydrating, and eating. I had an easy walk/run 5k Girls on the Run practice on Monday, a not-too-fast, not-too-slow 6 miles on Tuesday, and I was feeling calm and collected.

Enter: the terrifying taper gremlins.

Yesterday was not a pretty sight people, and despite my better efforts—the Taper Beast crept up behind me, and pulled the proverbial rug from under my feet—dragging all my rhyme and reason along with it.

I don’t have much reason to begin with, so you can imagine what happens when all sense of logic and rationality is dispelled in one foul swoop.

And just like that, I entered a dark, deep, supremely uncomfortable state of undying restlessness. Every little thing was bothering me, and every single person in my line of sight would have readily run as far as they could in the opposite direction had they been able to hear the unwarranted and over-the-top hate thoughts going in my head. And then I would have been jealous of the fact that they were running and I was not, and then they would be in some real danger.

Essentially, I was/am feeling very overwhelmed…not necessarily by the race (at least not consciously…I’m sure my subconscious is a shit-storm of hallucinations right now), but more so by the things crowding around me. Yesterday I had an incredibly claustrophobic feeling of everything closing in on me, and all I wanted to do was to throw away every piece of technology I own, give away all my money to some war-torn country, and run away to a place void of human contact. I wanted to be completely free of accountability, free of material possessions, and free of the giant knot of thoughts that was pounding against the walls of my brain.

Sound crazy? You bet. Sound like a taper effect? Oh yes. I’m glad that this time I was at least able to recognize that these out-of-the-ordinary, nomad-like thoughts were more than likely the result of nerves, anticipation, and a general overflow of energy. However, the fact that this was a taper-tantrum and not  a stream-of-consciousness epiphany in which I decide to sell all my possessions to children in need did not help me feel any less constrained.

I felt completely out of my skin, as if everything and everyone was closing in around me until I would disappear into the abyss. Unfortunately, the only thing that sounded freeing was running—without a watch, without an iPod, and without an agenda. However, I still had a few morsels of reason left over, despite the Taper Beast’s best efforts, and I knew running wasn’t a good option in the long run. (Pun intended, and by long run I actually mean “in the 3 days you have until running 26.2 miles with a very pointed goal in mind”). So, I did the next best thing.

I went swimming, where silence is unavoidable, but all forms of intrusive technology and people are completely avoidable. Little by little, stroke by stroke, my brain began to crack just enough to leak the poison that had overtaken my better self. Sure, I still had the desire to “accidentally” breast-stroke kick the guy next to me who’s version of sharing a lane means that I got the far left 6 inches while he got the middle, but I refrained.

And by the end, I felt better. Sure, the Beast was still there, but instead of allowing it to drag me all over the place without my consent or compliance, it was more as if I was carrying it piggy-back style. It had transformed from my ruler to my infant—I still had to haul it around with me and tend to its every need, but I was the one that was in control.

After leaving the pool, very gingerly and carefully—wary of the swarms of bad feelings coming back—I readily put on some encouraging, soothing, inspiring music and plotted my marathon playlist. That, with the addition of huge fistfuls of trail mix, calmed the diva yesterday, and so far this morning she has stayed calm. She is fed, she is currently being caffeinated, she is wearing a fuzzy jacket, and today she gets to be taken out for a dress rehearsal run, clad in marathon apparel. Sure, she might have spent a good hour last night Googling every last taper plan available via the internet, in some desperate attempt to tweak her already prescribed and effective schedule, but you know…baby steps.

The good news is once I can control the diva/Beast that gets to hang around these next few days, I manage to think about all the things I would prefer to occupy my mind space—like going to the running store for Body Glide and Energy Gels, updating my iTunes with 8:10 minute mile jams, and planning every last carbohydrate I’ll consume until Saturday night.

Ultimately, I know all these things will get done—and I know that despite all the stress and anxiety, it’s all in the name of kicking the crap out of the race on Sunday. Because if there’s one thing I know will tame my Beast—it’s letting her compete. She’s a ruthless little diva, and there’s nothing she loves more than chasing down strangers and leaving them in her dust.

So, lucky for everyone out there right now, the tantrums are at bay. I’m focusing on doing one task at a time, very carefully, and trying not the check the course map and weather report more than 5 times every half hour.

Also, reading NYT Bestseller Certified Porn Fifty Shades of Grey and listening to “The World’s Greatest” by R. Kelly are both excellent distraction mechanisms.

Yes yes, I know R.Kelly isn’t exactly a dinner-appropriate conversation piece anymore. But that song was one of the Summer Olympics songs many years ago, and I’ll be damned if I can’t listen to it and pretend like I’m prepping to represent the U.S. in front of the whole world to see. A small marathon in Tacoma, WA is essentially the same thing all you haters—DON’T DISAGREE WITH THE DIVA.

I am sure that my eager competitive self will overpower the crazy within a day or so, and I can promise that come race time I will care only about the 26.2 miles of running ahead of me. Writing this has actually helped quite a bit, and presuming there are still a few of you left reading that haven’t run for their lives away from the cyber space occupied by a Crazy Lady, I appreciate your attention to my freaking out. Knowing that there are people out there who get it helps tremendously, and any thoughts you have regarding easing taper anxiety and crazy anti-materialism and anti-society thoughts would be more than welcomed.

So tell me: What is the craziest taper-experience/freak out you’ve had? How did you tame the Beast? Do you think it’s even possible to try and have a “happy taper?” And perhaps most importantly, what do you feed your diva?

24 Facts for 24 Years

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Welcome to May! I adore this month, and I adore this day, and not just because it’s my birthday—which it happens to be 🙂

May means celebrations, the perfect combination of spring and summer, and a general joie de vie in the air. I feel fortunate to have May Day as my birthday,  and I am confident that this transition from 23 to 24 is going to be a good one.

Birthday festivities from Saturday night

24 feels like a really high number, and I keep thinking I’m turning 23 instead. I’m not too afraid of “getting older” as so many people are, however this age makes me realize how long ago certain things (high school, college, my 21st birthday) actually were. I really feel like I was just turning 21…and admittedly I still get a little anxious when someone checks my ID. Weird, because I never even had a fake ID. My mother did, but I didn’t. Busted Ma.

Anyways, in honor of my 24th year of life, I’ve decided to share with you 24 random things about me—most of which I don’t think most people know. Some will be very understandable, some may make you cock your head to the side, questioning why you’re spending time reading the blog of a mega weirdo, but either way….enjoy:

1) I am absolutely petrified of sharks and any deep water that could contain a shark. I think sharks are just about the most horrifying things on earth, and even in the deep end of swimming pools I get nervous about being dragged under by a huge great white. I’m not kidding, and I personally believe that the world we be a much more pleasant place without these dinosaur-era creatures lurking in our oceans.

2) I danced in college. Not all that well, mind you. However, for three out of four years of school I participated in our school’s Repertory Dance Group doing lyrical, musical theater, modern, and hip hop. I loved it, and a big part of me wishes I had danced longer in life.

A High School Musical dance montage. I was Gabriella, which obviously involves being spun high in the air to "Breaking Free."

3) I always prefer blueberry-flavored things. Bagels (you may know this), muffins, scones, Luna Bars…if it’s blueberry, I’m on board. I don’t know where this comes from, but I’ve been this way since I was a baby bird.

4) My porn-star name is Victoria Spencer, and I’m proud of it. For those of you that don’t know, you figure out your porn-star name by taking the first street you lived on and adding it to the first pet you had. It’s a silly game, but it yields some humorous results in a group of people.

5) I am very uncomfortable running an odd-number amount of miles. This is a weird quirk, however I really really have a strong aversion to not having a round, even number of miles completed after a run. With the exception of 13.1, I really dislike odd distances, and I will almost always round up or down mileage if it means avoiding an odd number. Ironic…because I realize just how odd this is.

6) I used to play softball, volleyball, basketball, and run track. I may have mentioned this before, but the majority of my younger years, up until I went to college and traded athletics for beer pong, were spent either on the practice field or game field. I was a huge tomboy for a good number of years, and competing was my favorite thing to do. I eventually grew out of crying when I lost a game, however to this very day I absolutely love sports and will jump on any park-and-rec, intramural, or pick-up-game that you throw at me.

Can you find me? Hint: pigtails and "short person" group placement spot.

7) I’ve never had a cavity. I consider this luck, to be honest…and the fact that I am missing normal molars and my teeth are a bit spacey. Still, my dentists are always impressed.

8) I have crooked pinkies. Some call it hereditary, I believe it’s a birth defect, but either way I have two very, very crooked pinkies, and they frighten people when I show them for the first time. BF thinks it’s really funny to look at them when we’re holding hands and shudder/shake his hand away in disgust. It’s hilarious, really, and NO you don’t get a photo…yet. Maybe someday.

9) 9 is my favorite number in the whole world. I have mentioned this before, and I’m not particularly sure how it first started (aside perhaps from when Mia Hamm wore this number for the US women’s team). I think good things started happening in relation to the number 9, and I professed my undying love for it. Also, if you remember from Sesame Street when they had a “number of the day,” 9 was always so elegant and pretty…unlike stupid 7. Sorry 7, you’re alright…but 9 is where it is at.

10) I will always put my favorite song on a mix CD as the number 9 track. See above for reasoning. If you ever get a CD from me, you can be sure that whatever song I’ve selected in the 9 slot is a bonafied RBB fave.

11) I have a weight-lifting record at my high school. Okay, so it’s shared with 4 other people, but to this day my name is still on the record board for my weight-class in incline bench press. I used to be embarrassed about this, but the fact that it’s still there is seriously hysterical to me—and I’m proud. Apparently there aren’t any burly 115 pound teenage girls walking around my high school anymore.

12) I absolutely hate Swiss cheese. There are very, very few foods that I dislike. It is safe to say that no matter where I go, no matter what there is, I will be able to find something I like. But not Swiss cheese. Unless it’s in fondue form, in which I’ll tolerate it, I wince at anything that is even close to touching Swiss cheese.

13) I have broken 3 bones, all on 3rd base. No, not that third base you dirty minded people. But wouldn’t that be funny, too? Anyways, I have broken my nose and both the bones in my arm while in close proximity to the 3rd base plate in softball. My arm was broken while sliding into 3rd; the chick playing third decided to push me over mid-slide, and instead of falling I tried to catch myself using my left radius and ulna. Double break, I think the bones actually switched spots as well. My nose was broken when I was tagging a girl while I was playing third. The bill of her helmet went into my nose, and it felt really really spectacular.

For the record, I was safe when I broke my arm. Obviously making it worth it.

14) My favorite animal is the killer whale. This is a very deep, intense love. I still have orca figurines that I collected as a child back at home, and to this day I squeal in delight whenever I see a photo, movie, commercial, or billboard with a killer whale on it. And yes I know they are “killers” or whatever, but I like to remain in my fantasy of swimming joyfully with them in a beautiful forest-lined cove.

See?

And surprisingly, I was not a Lisa Frank kid. Bonus fact!

15) I end every long race to Defying Gravity from Wicked. If you’ve heard this song, you have to understand the undeniable energy, determination, and epic-ness of it. It’s my happy song, it makes me feel untouchable, and I love the feeling of crossing the finish line with Elphaba crooning about how no one can bring her down.

16) The nickname “Birdie” came from freshman year basketball. I don’t actually remember who exactly bestowed this name upon me, but from then on it was my title in just about every sport I played. And if you have yet to figure out why I am associated with a Bird, my name is Robyn. If you still don’t get it, then I recommend a nap or maybe some caffeine.

17) I have a fairly impressive ability of guessing people’s birth months. I know this might seem strange, and it is, but for some reason over the past few years I’ve realized that I have a real knack for guessing the month people I meet were born in. I don’t know how it works, I don’t know how I can do it, but for some reason I get a feeling from people about when they were born—and it’s normally right. I typically need to be with them, in person, and normally I need to have spent more than 5 or so minutes with them. It works best with people I’ve known longer…and if you don’t believe me, next time we’re together I’ll try and guess your’s…and you’ll realize why I should be working a booth at 6 Flags.

18) My favorite book of all time is Les Miserables. Again, I’ve mentioned Les Mis one too many times on a blog that is supposed to be about sweating and running. I don’t really think the poor and desperate people of 19th century France fit in much, but I can’t help it. I find the story beautifully tragic, and the writing is so classic and poetic. Also, I will talk to you for hours about the show if you ever bring it up, so be warned. AND THEY ARE MAKING A MOVIE.

19) I only like purple and red Skittles. They should make packs of these two flavors only, like how Swedish Fish has “red only” packs.

20) Belle is the best Disney princess of them all. No, I am not stating this as an opinion, because it’s fact. She reads, she’s independent, she doesn’t need a prince to wake her from a coma, and she sees past outer appearances in favor of what’s on the inside.

Belle dressed as me for Halloween. With her cop friend, he wasn't included in the movie.

21) My favorite flowers are white lilies. Lilies smell phenomenal and look like something that lines the walls of heaven. I adore lilies and I will get my nose covered in their messy pollen just to inhale their fabulous scent.

22) I have two tattoos. That’s all…

23) I want to do an Ironman someday. I’m not sure when, I’m not sure if it’s possible (first I need to do that whole get-a-real-competition-bike thing), but I do know that I want to do an Ironman. I’ve looked at training schedules, and they’re horrifying, but I know that there will be a point in time where I want to give all I have into doing the bad-boy of all tris. I have declared 2013 the year of the triathlon…so we’ll start there.

24) I studied abroad in Prague, and it was the best time of my life. I was fortunate enough to spend the spring semester of my junior year in the Czech Republic, and it was the quintessential essence of a perfect abroad experience. I traveled all around Europe, I had no cell phone, I ate everything in sight, I walked everywhere I went, and perhaps most importantly, I learned how to make myself happy. I miss it every day, and I can guarantee I will go back someday, if you would like to come you’re welcome to join…I will show you all over and make you eat all the fried cheese and beer Praha has to offer.

The writing on the wall...be happy 🙂

There you have it! 24 facts for 24 years. I hope you enjoyed learning more about me, or at least I made you feel a bit more normal.

Tell me what your porn star name is! And, if you feel like sharing, tell me some facts about you that either compliment or contrast my facts above. Unless you’re a shark affectionato, and in that case we can no longer speak. 

Sharing the Miles and Marathon Week!

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Good morning!

To all of you who raced this weekend, all I can say is, “WOW.”

Based on my Twitter feed, Google Reader, and Facebook, this weekend was uber full of some  super impressive races, PRs, and general love for running. For everyone who ran Eugene, there wasn’t a report I heard that wasn’t super inspiring and impressive, and although a big part of me wishes that I was running into Hayward yesterday morning, I know my time will come in (less than!) 6 days. All the race reports and running-love made me so so excited to race this weekend, and I just wish I didn’t have to spend 6 days in nerve-wracking anticipation.

Actually, 5 days, 20 hours, and 33 minutes, if we’re being precise which obviously I am not.

Through all the absorption and admiration going on with so many fellow lady runners out there, my race-week excitement is full speed ahead. All I’m thinking about is race strategy, time goals, Body Glide, carbs, proper bib pinning, and a dynamite playlist. All these thoughts go through my head, and then they just repeat themselves in a slightly more detailed, fleshed out version. (You know, as if I didn’t already think about running enough.) It’s a scary place to be, but all-in-all I am just feeling psyched.

I trust my training, no doubt, but at this point I’m really trying to fine-tune my mental game. I know that if there’s one thing in which I have an advantage, it’s my ability to push through the hard parts. I think it’s a combination of being super stubborn and super competitive, but whatever it is— it typically works toward my advantage when the miles get tough. It’s what gave me three sub-8 minute miles at the end of my first marathon, and it’s what I’m hoping will carry me along the hilly Tacoma course.

I can’t wait.

Well, I’m going to have to, but fortunately there are some fun things happening along the way!

For starters, my birthday is tomorrow, which is definitely fun to have on race week. Although I would like to celebrate with a long sweaty run, I’ll have to dial it back to a shorter one—but it’s all worth it in the name of proper tapering. Also, today I’ll be going to my first practice for the Girls on the Run organization, which I’m really excited for.

GOTR is a non-profit that gives elementary school girls the opportunity to train for a 5k with an older “running buddy.” Their mission states: “We inspire girls to be joyful, healthy and confident using a fun, experience-based curriculum which creatively integrates running.”

Good stuff, obviously something I am in full support of, and I can’t wait to meet my new 5th grade friend today 🙂

And in a completely appropriate yet unplanned transition, I want to share with you the Runner’s World quote of the day from Friday, which really spoke to me. I totally didn’t actually see that transition coming, it just worked out. Isn’t that nice? Good job coincidental blog structuring.

“Running is not, as it so often seems, only about what you did in your last race or about how many miles you ran last week. It is, in a much more important way, about community, about appreciating all the miles run by other runners, too.”

Now, I know that quote is dripping with Kumbaya cheesiness, but it really is true, and it’s one of the reasons I wanted to join the world of running bloggers in the first place. I think it’s really easy to get consumed in our own training regimens, our own goals, and our own routines (weird I know…humans, self-consumed creatures?!). And although these levels of focus are fine, I’ve found that reaching beyond my own running schedule and learning about the lives of other runners has been one of the most enriching and inspiring aspects of this sport. It’s why I get so giddy and excited by reading race reports of bloggers that I follow: following their training schedules and their progress is so intriguing and inspiring, and it helps the rest of us step outside of our own routines.

I really love this “sharing” nature that most every runner seems to have. Almost all the runners I’ve come across, both in my real life and around the virtual-running world, are always willing to talk about running and exchange as much information as possible with other runners. It seems simplistic, of course runners love talking about running, but what I really love is just how interested and encouraging the running community can be. A lot of people in the blogging community have never even met each other in real life, and yet everyone is so excitedly amped about each other’s running reports.

And sure, strangers exchanging enthusiastic, “Kill it!”s and “So proud of you!”s throughout cyber space may seem a bit strange, but as a runner—I really think it stems from one root commonality we all share: a pure, unconditional love of this sport.

Running does something to us that cannot be matched in any other vacinity. It takes us to our happy place, the place where we can shed all the other skins and hats we wear in favor of being totally and completely  ourselves. Once we discover this existential love for running, it cannot be broken, and we become completely enamored.  The only outlet for this love, besides writing poetic/creepily obsessive blog posts and sending up love and praise to the run gods above, is to talk about it with other people who feel the same way.

A love for running is a tie that binds no matter who we are, and I love this about runners. I love that despite how super competitive and consumed with our own goals we become, we are almost equally willing to share enthusiasm, encouragement, and advice to all other runners out there—no matter what level they’re at.

So, with that said, all of you out there whom I have been able to share my trials and victories with surrounding this sport, I thank you so very much for your support. And those of you who have shared your journeys with me—thank you for inspiring me every single day. I have loved sharing all your miles right along with you. Blogging and reading other blogs, books, and articles by other runners has given me so much more love and respect for this sport. And the best part? I feel like it’s just the beginning.

And in case you didn’t think I woke up this morning thinking, “RACE WEEK, RACE WEEK, RACE WEEK,” let’s take a look at what I subconsciously put on to wear today:

I woke up approximately 6 minutes before taking this, so please accept my "I'd rather be horizontal" sleepy eyes.

PSYCHED. Tacoma, get ready.

 

Did you race this weekend? How did it go? Or, why is it you think runners perpetually geek-out over long runs, Nuun, and race numbers together?

Friday Favorites: Naughty Books and Cheeseburgers

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Hello beautiful people.

How’s it going? Thanks for your thoughts on yesterday’s manifesto on lady issues. Clearly, it’s something I feel strongly about, but there are definitely multiple sides to the issue. I think the most important takeaway is to remember that everyone is fighting a hard battle, and we should all be on the front lines of attack for our fellow gal pals.

But moving on.

Welcome to Friday! I hope your week has been splendid, and you’re getting all Spring-fevery with all the flowers, racing, and sunshine in the air. Had my previous agenda not been changed, I would be gearing up to hit the road tomorrow for Oregon for the Eugene Marathon. And I admit…I’m a little bit sad this isn’t the case. Am I glad I got an extra week of training? Definitely…especially in terms of letting my knee get better. But, I was/am really hoping to do this race—and I’m getting sad with all the emails I’m still receiving about the expo and my virtual race packet.

Oh well, next year Eugene.

As for now, I’m easing into the depths of taperdom. That’s an actual place, I’ll have you know, and it involves a lot of sleep, a lot of eating, and a lot of on-again off-again nervous stomach. I’m wavering back and forth between feeling really amped and really nauseated—which is normal, except that it’s still over a week away and the real taper anxious energy hasn’t even started yet. Be warned, if you come across my path next Thursday, Friday, or Saturday, I might scream at you in a fit of unused-endorphins-induced rage. I apologize in advance for any violent Tweets, blog posts, comments, or general anxious energy I throw into the universe.

Okay, it might not be that bad. But when you put together a unhealthfully competitive person, a hilly marathon, and the potential for a PR—you get a groveling, weepy, bagel-stuffed Bird.

BF, all I can say is I’m glad you’re also racing so if you need to run away from me you have an excuse.

Truthfully, I am feeling pretty good about how things are shaping up. My knee started hurting again a bit, which is annoying, but it seems that as long as I do a lot of hamstring stretching and knee icing, I’m keeping it mostly at bay. At this point though, I’ll be racing no matter what— inflamed bursa or not.

Enough of this banter though, Friday Favorites is the name of the game today, and onward we go!

iPod Shuffle

I recently made the switch to this little baby from my old nano for running, and I cannot believe I hadn’t done so earlier. The nano was fine, but the ease in not having it strapped to my arm and having the cord dangling and flailing about it infinitely more enjoyable. Also, since I’ve been going back and forth between music-running and non-music-running, this makes the transition much easier.

Gossip Girl

CHUCK AND BLAIR FOREVERRRR

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.

Yes I still watch Gossip Girl, and yes I still love it.

Do I get really pissed at the characters as if they’re people I actually know? You betcha. I’m right there along with the high-school girls who gather together on Monday nights for a “OMG SO SCANDALOUS!” viewing session.

In case you used to watch, and have since given up due to never-ending story lines and Serena being annoying (I don’t blame you), allow me to give you a few snipits of info for what’s currently going down in the “Upper East Side.”

Dan sucks, he really needs to cut his hair, and his pretentiousness has gone up about 1000%. He wrote a NYT bestseller and then basically cried when it went to number 11. GET OVER YOURSELF DAN.

Blair and Chuck aren’t together, and I hate it. They writers know this is all anyone cares about anymore, therefore they are intent on making it not happen, thus ensuring I will continue to watch vying for the next big pent-up sex scene between these two.

Serena really really sucks, which seems to be the case since the first season ended.

Jenny is off the show, so is Vanessa.

Elizabeth Hurley is a guest star this season, which is kind of weird. She and Nate hook up, which obviously I’m jealous of, but the age separation is a bit much. She’s hot, but there’s really only so much you can cover up with makeup and way-too-tight dresses, Liz.

That’s all that matters, which obviously is very little. And yet, my DVR continues to record this show, and I continue to cuddle up with anticipation to watch it.

Maybe I’ll grow up someday, but not now.

xoxo

50 Shades of Grey

I realize I’m way behind the ball on this one, but I do have a funny little thing that happened when I innocently—promise!—decided to start this book.

As I was perusing my Nook’s suggested reads, I came across this book and the title was super familiar. I knew this book was all the buzz among people my age, and obviously it was selling like hot-cakes, so I decided to go for it. Why not? It’s probably decent—and the title sounds like it could be some interesting modern writing, hey…maybe even some innovative prose and highlight-worthy lines.

WRONG.

This is a sex book. I started reading, and while it wasn’t the most cryptic or advanced writing, it was interesting enough. The further along I went, I quickly realized that it was actually the hot-and-heavy, explicitly detailed bedroom scenes that made this book so popular. This is definitely the kind of book I would have hidden from mom—just like Forever by Judy Blume. Did anyone read that?! I credit that book for teaching my 11-year-old self about what sex actually entailed. None of Judy’s other books are like that, and let me tell you—I read that naughty little paperback cover-to-cover at least 5 times.

Moving back to the point, obviously I’m going to finish the 50 Shades of Grey series.

Red Robin

Anyone who says they don’t like Red Robin is lying to themselves. And if you are, in fact, one of these Red Robin naysayers, you probably shouldn’t be reading my blog—and you should instead be in confession for blasphemy.

Was that inappropriate?

Oh well, most of this post has been about gossipy teens and dirty sex books, so let’s just continue along that thread.

Now back to the burgers. It is safe to say that I never actually order a burger at a restaurant except for Red Robin. Also, I probably only ever go once or twice a year, because let’s face it—it takes about that long to digest a meal from RR. But oh do I love those few and far between excursions I do get to take.

Red Robin has been a family favorite ever since they plopped themselves down in the center of Colorado Springs (my hometown), and I can remember the sheer joy of hearing we’d get to go their for dinner.

In reality, the food is good, not incredible, but it’s the whole atmosphere that makes RR the Happiest Place On Earth II (obv Disneyland is number 1, do you know me at all?). The bottomless freckled lemonade, the balloons, the french fry baskets, and the super annoying but addicting “Happy Birthday” jingle they sing no less than 10 times per trip are what make Red Robin an amusement park of a restaurant.

____

Okay, we’re done for this week…I hope I didn’t frighten you too much with my tapering, over-the-top GG coverage, and adoration of RR bacon cheeseburgers.

I’d like to say GOOD LUCK!! to everyone racing in Eugene, and Big Sur, and everywhere else this weekend. I know you all will crush it, and remember to run your race and enjoy every minute of it!

TELL ME YOUR FAVORITE THINGS! Or, tell me something from your childhood—either a book, a movie, a tv show, etc.—that made you feel “grown up.”

Have a great weekend!

My Year Without a Scale

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I’m going to do something that I normally really dislike doing. It’s something that I very actively and purposefully try and not talk about both on my blog and in real life, and there are a number of reasons why. This topic-that-shall-not-be-named revolves around an issue that we, namely females, inevitably think about all too often, whether we like to our not.

What we weigh, how we look, and the changes we think “need” to be made to our bodies.

As runners, these are issues we face in a somewhat different way than the average female. Fortunately, I think most of us know that we need proper fuel, and we understand that our bodies are only going to work most effectively if they are fed and fed often. However, at the same time, we want to maintain a lean, strong physique so that our speed and endurance stays high. So, although our activity level typically allows us to concentrate a bit less on being uber-healthy all the time, and more on extra pasta consumption, we are still faced daily with “body thoughts.”

And to be frank, I really don’t like body thoughts, and I don’t like that this topic seems to be all girls talk about when they get together.

I will 100%, totally admit to being victim of the looming thoughts of what if I gain weight, what if my jeans look tight, or if I should really have another piece of candy. I’m not going to pretend that I’m somehow past all these tendencies, and in fact I’m far from them. However, this does not mean that I think we, as women, should be incessantly, communally discussing these things.

I think constant body talk between women is one of the most toxic scenarios we can engage in, and it’s a slippery slope to go from simple talk about workouts and favorites foods into diets we “should” be doing and why we’re somehow not up to par with the perfect arms, the perfect stomach…you get it. I think it’s way too easy for women to get caught up in these discussions (myself included) because unfortunately we are hardwired (Thanks, every women’s magazine on the market) to think them each and every day, and when we’re offered an outlet to free these thoughts—we jump at them. Conversations of substance and self-fulfillment are completely drowned by our tendency to jump on “What I Ate Today” talk, and personally I very actively avoid fostering these conversations.

I have been around them, I have vehemently participated in them, and I have realized that I no longer want to be around them. This is one of the biggest reasons I don’t tend to talk about these things on my blog, and I try and surround myself with people who would rather talk about margaritas and fro-yo than diets and losing 5 pounds.

I haven’t always been this way though, and I do still contradict myself. But I am making very purposeful strides in surrounding myself with people, both in real life and in my virtual readings, that focus on all the great things going on instead of all the things they wish they could change.

So, with all that said, I’m going to delve a bit into this topic I dislike so very much. But I promise, it will have a dignifying ending and it will be chalk-full of lessons I’ve learned myself and I think other people could benefit from as well.

Yesterday marked a one-year anniversary, and one that I am quite proud of. It has been exactly one year since I have stepped on a scale. That seems NUTS to me! I’ve never been super intent on weighing myself, however I can guarantee I have never gone this long in my life without any precise knowledge of what I weigh. Well, in my post-pubescent life I suppose. I remember the last time I was on a scale so precisely because it was at a doctor’s appointment for my hip injury, and I can conscientiously remember at that time thinking, “If I hate getting on the scale, why do I always look at it when I’m at the doctor?”

Now, in no way am I shaming anyone who likes to keep tabs on what they weigh. For a lot of people I think it has some good accountability effects, and it helps keep their fitness goals in check. However, I am willing to bet that there are very few females out there who have a “healthy” relationship with the scale. One number off from where we’d “like” the reading to be can throw us into a panic attack about what we’re doing wrong, what we should be doing more (or less) of, and essentially all the reasons why we are failures. We step on the scale hoping for justification, either a number at or below what we imagine to be “ideal,” because if that number appears we feel justified and successful.

Again, there’s nothing wrong with feeling a sense of success if you are actively trying to lose weight and there’s a certain number you want to scale to read. However, for the rest of us, those of us who eat healthy enough, exercise frequently, and try and maintain an at-least somewhat healthy lifestyle, I think the scale can be your absolute worst enemy.

If you are proactively living a healthy life, why should you need some number to define that success? If you feel healthy, if you feel good, then that should absolutely suffice as a means of self-satisfaction. Scales are completely variable, and the number can be altered by any assortment of factors; how much water you’ve recently drank, when your last meal was, when you last went to the bathroom, how much sodium you have in you, etc., etc. I could weigh myself on two back-to-back days and the scale may say something entirely different depending on the number of chips and guac I ate, or simply the clothing I’m wearing.

{The number of chips and guac I consume in a sitting can most often be defined as “all of them,” if you need some clarity}

The point is, the scale tricks you, and you are a much more reliable source of information regarding your current state of self-content. Many people think that numbers on a scale are more tangible and specific than, say, the way our clothes fit or—gasp—how we feel about ourselves. Thanks Cosmo, Women’s Health, Shape, and every other “credible” health news source for constantly berating us with this memo. I believe that it is the thought that you are only as good as the number on the scale that has completely given numbers and scales all the power, and I think this mentality is completely backward.

I remember when I was in my mid-to-late teens I would sometimes ask my mom how I looked, if I looked like I’d gained or lost weight, etc. Now, there were definitely times when the real answer was, “Robyn, you are a freshman in college and you’ve been living off alcohol and dorm pizza for a semester, what did you expect?” But, my mother, bless her, did not say this. In response to my pleads for if I looked like I had gained weight, she replied, “Well, how do you feel?”

And this is the question I still ask myself, as an alternative to stepping on a scale—and it has become a much healthier and freeing way to live. When I finish a long run, and I’m caked in sweat and salt and desperate for a huge bagel, am I thinking about what the scale says?

Hell the F no.

I feel fantastic, I feel accomplished, and I feel healthy—all completely independent of whatever number the scale would say if I stepped on it. By deciding to not weigh myself, I have started to regain the power over my self-satisfaction and established a valuable understanding of how to be my own judge.

Are there times when I’m curious what I weigh? Sure. Having gone through two marathon training cycles, I am marginally interested to see if there’s been any affect. But that interest is rooted in the part of me that still subscribes to Women’s Health and thinks about how I could probably afford to stop eating desserts every night. Instead, I prefer to think about it like this:

I have legs that can run 26.2 miles in a row

I have arms that can do more push-ups that any Barbie-arm girl could ever think of.

I have a stomach that always enjoys cookies, beer, and bread baskets.

I have feet that look like a car ran over them, and all semblance of pedicured toes has been gone for years. But it’s because they’ve spent hours stuffed in running shoes, pounding on the ground, and carrying whatever-it-is I weigh up and down hills, through the snow and rain, and over hundreds of miles.

And guess what? I love these things about myself. I love them more than any “ideal” number on a scale could ever say, and whenever I start to think that there’s a certain standard I’m unable to reach, I remind myself that the body I do have is the one that has given me so many more rewards and accomplishments than I could have every hoped for.

My year without a scale has also been a year when I became a marathoner, when I started to rid myself of toxic conversations and acquaintances, when I started a blog, and when I realized that if I eat healthy, stay active, and focus on the positive—why should a certain number of pounds matter? I don’t think this is a coincidence. I think that by letting the scale rest in the metaphorical cobwebs, I have begun to unlearn the self-deprecating habits that unfortunately hold almost every female in our society captive.

It is this new mentality that has made me very adverse to discussions and blog posts regarding weight loss, weight gain, and body talk in general. Again, I’m not immune to it and I probably have at least one “I wish this was different…” thought every day. But, by ridding myself of the scale and focusing on what my body can do as opposed to what it’s not doing, or looking like, I feel much more free and in control.

So, what is the underlying point to all this? Well, I’m not telling you to stop weighing yourself or to throw your scale in the dumpster (although such a move would be epicly super-female-empowering-movie-esque, and you should send me a picture). But, I am encouraging all my lady friends, relatives, and readers out there to concentrate more on all the things we do have going for us, as opposed to all the things we wish was different. Because this much I know is true: The way you “think” you should be is frequently not your opinion at all; it’s the opinion we have been forced to believe with every goddamn ad, magazine, movie, tv show, and photo out there. If you are living a healthy life, you are exactly the way you’re supposed to be, and that is absolutely something to be fist-pumping proud of.

Sometimes I get really You Go Girl about things, and this is one of them. If you disagree with some of the things I’ve said, that’s totally fine—I realize a lot of these thoughts are my opinion and you’re welcome to think differently. But, no matter what you believe, allow me to please encourage you to think about how you measure your self-worth. More likely than not, you’re going to discover the unfortunate reality that we rely very heavily on pop-culture “information” as our instruction book for self esteem. This isn’t right, and I think we owe it to ourselves to regain the power in the battle each of us faces every day. Because we do have that power, and it’s our’s for the taking if we choose to redirect our energy and attention in more constructive and positive lights.

 

Have you ever broken up with the scale? Do you think there’s any value in them? Is there anything to be gained by discussing our body issues with our female friends? This is the only time I’ll ever ask these types of questions, so speak loudly!

“Tri” Weekend and Celebrating the Earth

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Hello!

I hope you had a great weekend and I hope your week has started off swimmingly. I could be mistaken, but it seems as if everyone is a little bit high on a “it’s getting warmer and sunnier and therefore life is good” kind of mood, meaning there is general cheer in the air. The onset of summer is always an enjoyable time of year, and when you’ve been down-trodden with rain and gloom for several months as we have in the PNW, a little dose of sunshine can go a longgg way.

Case in point: This past weekend.

I normally have a generally good time on the weekend, based on the increase in food consumption, the decrease in computer time, and the amount of running I get to do. However, I can boldly say that I don’t know if I’ve had a better time overall on the weekend as I did this last Saturday and Sunday. Everything was generally perfect, therefore I am going to tell you about it.

Exercise-wise, I was able to do a “tri-series” of sorts over Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Essentially, this means lots of swimming on Friday, lots of spinning of Saturday, and lots of running on Sunday. It was highly enjoyable to mix up my workouts, and I love being able to focus a lot of energy on one solo activity at a time.

I find that when I front load a heavy-exercise weekend with some swimming, everything feels better. As you know, I believe swimming is magic, and my body always seems to enjoy the time spent in the pool.

Although, I will admit, I have a difficult time not getting a tad paranoid when I’m doing laps and the “family area” is filled with 50 toddlers learning to dog paddle. I’m not an uber germ-a-phode or a clean freak, but the thought of swimming in tons of urine is really dampering to the whole experience. I think I’m going to tell my children that if you pee in the pool it comes out bright orange and everyone can see it. This should scare them out of it, right?

Anyways, I don’t normally do a heavy spin day before a long run, but since this week’s LR was only 16 miles, I decided to go for it. And despite my quads feeling a bit tired yesterday at the end of those 16 miles, overall I felt great, and I loved spreading my sweat through tons of different activities.

Also, who am I? I just said “only 16 miles.” Okay, 16 miles is still a long run. Fact. BUT, after 22 last weekend, 16 feels a lot more accessible…particularly when it’s done in 60 degree sunny weather on an all-flat course.

Which brings me to the vitamin-D filled glory that was this weekend.

People, I know we’re not supposed to talk about weather in blogging. But when you have not one, but TWO 70 degree days in Seattle, WA it is a BIG DEAL.

I took full advantage of the splendor, and it was nothing short of fantastic.

Aside from the aforementioned endorphin filled activities, allow me to show you some more highlights.

my backyard

While BF did man things on Saturday, I decided to take full advantage of this beautiful land I live in and took myself to the beach. I spent a solid 2 hours with an ice coffee, an Anne Lamott book, and the sun basking in water-front glory. I actually fell asleep laying against some driftwood, and it was heaven. There are few things more calming to me than being by the water, and given the fact that I was already in a post-spinning/caffeinated state of elation, this whole set up was my essence of perfection.

This also happened on Saturday, which is always a party.

See that “Now Open” sign? Yes, TJ’s has come to West Seattle, a mere 7 or so minute drive from my house. Do I talk too much about grocery stores? Yes. Positively. I will own every ounce of that statement. BUT any TJ’s fan out there will agree with me on the general happiness increase that goes hand-in-hand with your proximity to a store.

I think I could get an award for my excitement for the little things in life. I’m not sure if this is a good thing, or it means that I shoot too low in terms of my expectations, but no matter. I love you Trader Joe’s and your cheap almonds and whole wheat pizza dough.

Sunday had the promise of all-day sun, and BF and I were ready to take full advantage. Oh, and take it we did. Not only did we take it, but we took every single hour of the day and squeezed as much sunshine-filled activity out of them as we possibly could.

As I stated earlier, the day started with a 16 miler, completed averaging 8:20 miles (very happy about that) and the biggest blister I’ve ever gotten in my life. With two toenails on their death bed and now this beauty covering my entire pinky toe, I think it’s safe to say I’m ready to be done with training and get this marathon show on the road. I’m in a bit of a pickle because I think my old shoes are the reason for all my foot ailments, however my new shoes make my knee hurt, so it’s really just a debacle between which pain I’d prefer.

Post runs (BF did 10 miles), we walked to our typical bagel spot. Walking in shorts and flip-flops mind you. THIS IS A BIG DEAL.

Blueberry w/cream cheese and strawberry jam. Perfection.

Bagels should be an essential food group.

Afterwards, we decided to take on an endeavor we’ve only talked about hypothetically in the past: Planting a vegetable garden.

You see, we live in a big house that was turned into 5 separate units, and with the whole “living in a real neighborhood in a real house” scenario comes a 24 sq. ft patch of garden with which we can “do whatever we want,” according to our landlord. We both liked the idea of a vegetable garden, however it required not only the soil and the plants, but we needed to remove all the weeds and various shrubbery that had taken over our plot of garden.

As you can imagine, it was easy to procrastinate taking on this activity.

But not yesterday, when being outside was required, and we had a day to do whatever we chose.

So off to the hardware store it was, and we loaded up on all the things you need to be a green-thumb person. Okay, it was actually more like this:

Me: “Oh! Spinach!”

Me: “Ohhh!! Strawberries! Kale!”

BF: “How about….”

Me: “OHH!! PRETTY FLOWERS!”

Bf: “Check this out..”

Me: “Can we get a big chocolate cookie after this?”

Eventually, we made it out with a large variety of vegetables and a few flowers to plant.

Hooray gardening!! Also, those are my running clothes I'm still wearing. It's fine.

I got my cookie too, don’t worry. So did BF.

Also, in a very “we are a semi-adult couple who lives in a semi-adult home” move, we bought PATIO FURNITURE which was on sale. Again with the little things people. Until yesterday, when BF got all handy-man and set up our new table and chairs, the sole piece of furniture on our porch was a little, lone rocking chair. Now, we can do all kinds of fun things out there, including eat dinner, play cards, and make fun of all the people of segway tours that “drive” by our house.

Seriously. WALK.

Anyways, once arriving home and setting up our new sitting area, we got to work on the garden.

You pour the soil BF, I'll document.

After some pulling, clipping, digging, and planting, we had a final product!

Gardening!! Earth Day!! Not going to Safeway for vegetables every day!!

Into the newly poured soil went: spinach, snow peas, kale, strawberries, beets, chard, mint, basil, rosemary, radishes, and flowers. I’m PSYCHED. Now, let’s just see if this actually produces anything…

To celebrate our “manual labor” we headed to the park down the street to play some catch/whiffle ball. Note: It is not easy to play whiffle ball with two people, though it is highly entertaining, and perhaps more entertaining to the people watching.

It was actually after all these activities that I realized it was Earth Day, which made everything so highly appropriate.

I love the sun. I love running. I productive days. I love convincing BF to buy cookies with me.

Did you know these things?

I’m sorry if you’re tired of reading about me getting excited over and over about the exact same things all the time, but what can I say? I’m easy to please and I know what I like.

 

So, that’s all for now. If you made it all this way through my weekend recap, both thank you and I hope you had a great weekend as well. Today begins the less than two week countdown to marathon day, which will be on May 6. I’ve technically begun tapering, but as you can tell by my recap of exercise this past weekend, the real tapering is yet to come. I’m probably going to turn into a crazy, “I HAVE EVERY FEELING IN THE WORLD” person, and so I can almost guarantee some frightening/entertaining posts in these next couple of weeks.

NOW YOU! Tell me about your Earth Day, your weekend, your long run, your favorite grocery store, your simple pleasures, or ALL OF THESE THINGS! I enjoy comments.

Friday Favorites: Musical Guilt

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Let’s briefly recap why I’m glad it’s Friday, shall we?

Well okay, you don’t really have an opinion, because this is my blog. So like, either keep reading or don’t?

I hope you’re still there…

ANYWAYS. This journey toward why this Friday couldn’t come at a better time started bright and early on Monday morning. That’s right, this has been a whole week of Friday buildup. I awoke to a text from BF at 6:15 am (he gets to work at 5:30, it’s intense, you can feel sad for him) and all it said was, “Um…I have your keys.”

In some lazy Sunday night stupor, I had decided to leave my keys inside his car, therefore leaving myself stranded at home. I work from home, so it wasn’t totally catastrophic, but since I normally work from a coffee shop every day in order to avoid sitting on the couch in pajamas all day eating while working, my normal day was somewhat derailed. So my week started in a stranded-all-day-on-the-couch state of blah. Yes I know, why should I complain about this? Well, let me just tell you that you never want to leave the house more than when you HAVE NO WAY OF ESCAPE. It was claustrophobic, and I got nervous.

Yes, I could have walked somewhere, whatever. But I did need to work. And my bike doesn’t have air in its tires, at least I don’t think it does. I’ve ridden it probably 3 times since I bought it last July. Good investment, Robyn.

Moving on. Since then, every single day of this week has felt like a Thursday night. You know, when you’re pumped because the next day’s Friday and you can begin looking at the weekend forecast and plan your weekend Target and Trader Joe’s adventures? I love Thursday nights. But NOT when they are actually a Tuesday afternoon pretending to be Thursday and laughing in your face when you realize you are actually three days away from the weekend.

Fast forward to today, because this whole “why I’m all anxious and thrown off” endeavor is taking too long.

I realized this morning that I had left my computer cord in the outlet at the Starbucks I worked at yesterday. I have forgotten my computer cord all of two times in my life, and this time just happened to occur when I worked from a Starbucks that was far from my home. And my computer was dead. Awesome.

Time wasted, and I felt like I was walking around with “FAIL” tattooed on my forehead.

So with all that random banter over with, I welcome you to the REALITY of it being Friday and my forgetful/distracted week coming to a close.

I’m getting back into Friday Favorites this week, after a brief hiatus last week. Woooo lists of happy things!

This week, I’ve decided to theme the Favorites list according to my own personal music preferences, because recently there’s rarely an hour in my day where I’m not listening to some Pandora, iTunes, Spotify playlist. I like the feeling of sound-tracking my life, even when that soundtrack includes the same songs over and over again.

Now, part of this post about my music comes with a serious disclaimer, and it’s one that I’ve had to internalize for myself.

You know how everyone has a guilty pleasure song or artist that they try and hide within the rest of their “normal” music? It’s the one you never want people to see on your iPod, and heaven forbid it comes on when someone else is listening to your music. Yea, ok. We’ve all got one. Me though? All my music choices are like that.

Okay, maybe not ALL, but A LOT of the music I listen to is definitely on most people’s “no one can know I like this” list, and especially my running music. Am I ashamed? Not really, I know what I like and I’m going to listen to it. But am I slightly embarassed? A little. Several of my music choices are those that 14 year old girls croon to while sharing headphones with their best friend outside of Forever 21 at the mall.

However, I know that a lot of people out there are actually in agreement when it comes to some of these selections. Fact: Every single person, no matter who they are, can find a Glee song they like. There are so many! How could you not? And so, without much further ado (because there has already been a shit ton of “ado”…what does “ado” even mean?), I give you my current musical selections. Some are “normal,” some should be reserved for pre-teen karaoke sleepovers, and some are completely random.

Maroon 5

I need to come out of the “they’re so overplayed and not that talented” closet and admit that I have and will always love Maroon 5. I know a lot of their songs sound the same, and sure they might have a Nickleback-esque to them, but I don’t really care. Ever since “She Will Be Loved” spoke to my 16-year-old hopeless romantic heart, I always find myself enjoying Maroon 5 songs. I’m not huge on “Moves Like Jagger” fan, because the whole context just seems weird, but otherwise it’s pretty safe to say that I always have a Maroon 5 song stuffed somewhere in my musical repertoire.

Taylor Swift

If you’ve read this blog before, this comes as no surprise. I freaking love Taylor Swift. Unlike Maroon 5, I actually don’t think there is one T Swift song I don’t like. The scale of my fondness for her songs goes something like, “Fun and Catchy” to “OMG THIS WAS WRITTEN ABOUT MY LIFE.” I love her, I have Pandora station of her, and I’m a glitter covered t-shirt away from posting a YouTube “I Heart Taylor” video. 

Kidding.

BUT I do love her. My sister and I saw her concert and it was everything your high school self wanted it to be.

Glee Music


Now, I am actually a bit pickier about my Glee selections than you might guess. I really only like about 30% of them (not to be way-too precise or anything), and I typically preference the songs from musicals, the mash ups, and the big belting one-woman-show numbers. BUT, when I do find a gem of a Glee song, I hang onto it with all my might. I still regularly play songs from old seasons while on my runs, and I admittedly find myself favoring them over the original versions. “Faithfully” from the Season 2 finale anyone?

Glee is great to run to though, and I think it’s hard to stay in a bad mood when a group of beautiful and famous 20-somethings pretending to be loser teenagers are singing to you.

Lana Del Rey

This one isn’t a guilty pleasure choice, and she’s actually been overwhelming my playlists recently. I like running to Lana, she makes me feel all “don’t-give-a-crap-bad-girl” about things, because obviously that’s exactly the kind of person I am. I love her voice, her lyrics, and her general style.

Britney, Kelly Clarkson, and Rihanna

I figured these three could be lumped together, because I think everyone has at least a small spatter of these three somewhere in their music collection. They never seem to get looked over, no matter how many new playlists I make or musical phases I go through. In an exercise sense, you can’t really get better than these three for some pump-you-up girl jams that are loud and fast. And the “S&M” remix with RiRi AND Brit? Don’t even get me started.

Croony, Sappy Country Music

There isn’t a particular artist for this one, but it’s a music guilty pleasure I’ve been victim to ever since I discovered Tim McGraw and Keith Urban as a boyfriend-less high school freshman. I’m not huge into country music, but there’s a variety of super cheesy, over-the-top love songs (normally by men) that ignite my desire to belt loudly in the shower. Examples include, “Love Your Love the Most,” “Then,” “Making Memories of Us,” and “It’s Your Love.”

BF, please don’t read this post. And if you do, please stay with me. I promise I’ll never make you listen to Brad Paisley.

The soundtracks to Wicked, Spring Awakening, Les Mis, and Hairspray

I really really sometimes wish that I could go back in time and be a choir/theater/glee club person instead of a softball/basketball/track person. Well, that’s not really true, but I do have a very strong feeling that there is another universe in which I am a Broadway star who can sing like Barbara and dance like Beyonce (yes, interesting combo…just go with it). Something about musicals speaks to me, and I find it highly entertaining to listen to shows all the way through, imagining I’m the lead.

Drama queen? NEVER.

I also believe very confidently that there is an alternate universe in which I’m a 6’8″ NBA star, just to give you some perspective on the variety of my hallucinations  imagination.

Anyways, I love songs from musicals, and I have a dream of running an entire race to the Les Miserable soundtrack. It would be epic, except for the times I’m weeping when Fantine dies and sings to Cosette. Damn you Victor Hugo and Schönberg for tugging at my heart strings EVERY TIME.

So, in addition to some Jason Mraz (new album is SO GOOD), O.A.R., and Sarah Barielles, this is essentially the core of my musical choices, both while running and not.

If you’re still reading and not shaking your head while thinking, “Wow Robyn, maybe you should try growing up or something,” I hope you enjoyed my musical admissions.

The fact of the matter is I love essentially every kind of music. I can find a favorite tune in any and all genres, it just so happens that the songs I keep on repeat are stereo-typically a little “cheesy.”

I hold my head high though, and when you see me mouthing the lyrics to “Circle of Life” while pounding down the sidewalk during sunrise, you’ll know I’m in my happy place.

LONG LIVE MUFASA!

NOW YOU! Let’s hear it, what’s your musical guilty pleasure?