Forty days ago I set out on a goal for Lent, that instead of giving something up, I’d take on a new healthy habit (no, I’m not Catholic, but thought it was a great way to start a fitness goal). Enter my dedication and determination to run at least 2 miles/day for 40 straight days.
Like I said, don’t pop that cork just yet. I failed. But just by a day. Damn that one measly day.
During those 40 days, I suffered not two, but three stress fractures, and it still didn’t stop me, even against copious warnings from my doctor (and mother) telling me to take it easy.
During those 40 days, I managed to run through multiple hangovers courtesy of Bourbon Street, even with the threat of vomit looming over my mascara stained eyes on every single step.
The day after running a half marathon in Tampa when my muscles were stressed and strained beyond any immediate repair, I still managed to log a less than impressive 2.02 miles the very next day in my Brooks Pure Flow running shoes.
But enter day 39 in the beautiful outdoor loving city of Vancouver and thanks to a kidney infection, stitches in my knee (from falling off a flippin’ beach cruiser) and a nasty series of lies from a stupid boy and BOOM.
Hello Failure. Which coincidentally enough happens to start with F. A mere 12 or so hours from my proverbial finish line and I couldn’t bring myself to run 10,560 feet.
Finishing today’s 10-mile run (in a feeble effort to make-up for yesterday’s discretions by more than tripling my mileage), I should have felt this overwhelming sense of pride and accomplishment, but nooooo. Instead, my head hung low (picture Lindsay Lohan entering rehab kind of low) and even I was unsure if it was sweat or tears streaming down my disappointed face.
How is it I can run every single day through all the pain and literal breaking of bones, but I can’t seem to get my second to last day in simply because I was distraught and grumpy?
My final tally: In 40 days (39 really, go ahead, twist that knife) I ran 144.89 miles which averaged 3.6/day. I guess not too shabby, especially for a non-runner. Those numbers would mean so much more had I completed my goal.
Also, no thanks to stupid Ashton Kutcher and his movie 40 Days and 40 Nights for making me live up to the name The Blonde Side, thinking Lent was only 40 days. Enter fail numero dos. Having looked up Lent (again, a day late and a dollar short kind of epiphany), it’s apparently 44 days (or 38 excluding Sundays, but again, I’m not Catholic so I don’t really get it).
I wish my first “fitness” post here on The Blonde Side could have served as some kickass inspiration, but if I can’t make my goal, perhaps I need to be seeking inspiration, not giving it.
The one plus? I did fall in love (for the first time in everdom) with my butt. Yeah, you heard me. Forcing myself to get out there and run each and every day (well, almost every day) with this dismantled almost dream of mine, I noticed a big difference in the way my butt looked, so I’m starting a monthly challenge right here, clearly with no promises that I will in fact keep it.
For April’s Challenge, I will do AT LEAST 50 pushups/day for the entire month. If that doesn’t sound like a big deal, try having two complete shoulder replacements and only 72% range of motion and then get back to me. Deal?