Do you have a soundtrack?

Are you all sick of hearing about my first 5K yet? Okay, good, because I am not tired of talking about it yet! :)

Although I have been told that "runners" don't listen to music when they run because they are "in the zone", I absolutely rely on my tunes to keep me chugging along. What's better than hitting a tough moment in your run and then all of a sudden Ke$ha comes flying through your ear buds and gives you that musical push you need? Yes, she may be covered in glitter, and I may be covered in sweat, but at that moment Ke$ha is a lifesaver and we are soul-sisters.

So, in honor of my adventure at the Womens Running Magazine Half-Marathon and 5K here is my soundtrack from the race:

• "Ready to Go"- Republica
• "Typical Situation"- Dave Matthews Band
• "Club Can't Handle Me"- Flo Rida
• "Now That We Found Love"- Heavy D and the Boyz
• "Waking Up in Vegas"- Katy Perry
• "Stronger"- Kayne West
• "Empire State of Mind"- Jay Z
• "If"- Janet Jackson
• "Your Love Is My Drug"- Ke$ha
• "Everyday"- Dave Matthews Band
• "Stone Cold Yesterday"- The Connells
• "Paparazzi"- Lady Gaga
• "Right Now"- Van Halen

These were all great tunes and the only one I would have changed was "Ready to Go" by Republica. Its a great song to get pumped up to, but its over 5 minutes long and got boring after a bit.

What are your favorite work-out or running jams? Leave me a comment and let me know.

My first 5K was, um, crappy!?

This weekend I ran my first 5K in the Women's Running Magazine Half Marathon and 5K-- yay me! The race itself was amazing. The pre-race smearing of another runners feces all over my clothes was not. Yes, you read that right, ANOTHER.RUNNERS.POOP was all over my jacket and pants moments before the race began. What in the holy hades happened you wonder? Well, sit tight and keep reading--and maybe grab a trash can to hurl in if you have a weak stomach. Here goes:

For my 5K I wore black spandex capris, a white t-shirt and a light pink Lululemon zip-up jacket (it was cold when we arrived at 6:30am). Palm Tree Dad came to the race with BB and CC to cheer me on-- such troopers because it was EARLY... like really, really early when we woke up at 4:50am.

Before the race started (around 6:45am) I told Palm Tree Dad that I needed to use the restroom because I was nervous-- I always have to pee when I am nervous, doesn't everyone? There were TONS of people in those lines for the zillion porto-pottys so after waiting in line for 10 minutes or so it was my turn.

It was pretty dark in the porto-potty and didnt smell particularly good, but no big deal, right? Its a porto-potty. WRONG! I squatted/hovered to pee and when I stood up I thought to myself "Oh man, I smell poop. Like fresh poop, new poop. WTF!?!?" Then I saw it... on the inner lid of the porto-potty there was poop (diarhea-y poop) and I had it all over my light pink jacket from squatting over the potty, and now all over the ass of my pants from standing up, and a TINY TINY bit on my WHITE shirt from when I stood up. I fought the urge to burst out of the porto-potty and hunt down the mad-crapper and kick her ass.

Meanwhile, its still pretty damned dark in the porto-potty and I am trying to clean myself off with shreds of cheap toilet paper/sandpaper before I walked out to (not even kidding) 100+ women who are waiting to use the potty before the race. I was panicked and considering quitting the whole damned thing right then and there. I was literally covered in another persons shit and not happy about it at all.

When I got myself figured out enough to leave the porto potty I ran to Palm Tree Dad as fast as my little untrained legs would carry me (after I warned everyone else in line that this potty was OUT OF ORDER!) and with tears in my eyes I explained to him what had happened, showed him the damage and ordered/begged him to get the baby wipes out of the baby bag (I knew those kids would come in handy at some point, LOL!). I could hardly hold it together and I could tell he felt terrible for me. He knew I was already super nervous for my first race and to have this happen on top of my nerves was a nightmare.

We were able to clean me off as best we could with the baby wipes and Palm Tree Dad dumping water down the butt of my pants--and literally reaching inside my pants to scrub the poop off them so I didnt smell like it during the race. He was a hero.

I am pretty sure I didn't leave a wave of poop-smell when I ran but I didn't exactly poll my fellow racers to check. "Do I smell like poop?" isn't exactly a question you ever really want to ask people in social or competitive situations.

The race itself was a life-changer for me, seriously, but thats another post for another day.

Work It Out Wednesday!

Some of you might remember last summer when I posted as my FaceBook status "Friends, when I fall off the wagon and stop eating well and stop running/walking PLEASE remind me how good I feel right this moment as I sweat my ass off on my couch after a fantastic run". Well, for those of you who remember-- SHAME, SHAME, SHAME on you for not reminding me. LOL!

Since the move to Florida life has taken over, and chasing my tail on treadmill at a quick clip turned into chasing babies as a slow crawl, literally. And preparing healthy meals with quinoa and whole grains turned into shoving whatever I can in my mouth and washing it down with Pinot Grigio (the fuel that keeps mothers going). I stopped paying attention to my weight (other than to secretly chastise myself for clothes getting tight) and stopped remembering how good it felt to move and sweat. I made excuses, lots of them.

But those days are done my friends. I have a brand-spanking new pair of running shoes on their way to my door as we speak. I have my groove back for exercising-- and I WILL do it. So let me say it again, dear readers, if I forget, remind me. You wont offend me, you will support me. Once in awhile shoot me a comment asking how my daily exercise was. Ask me what I did, how much I loved it, and what my plans for the next day are.

Hold me accountable to the promise I have made to my health.