Boooooooring.

I hosed my Facebook today.  Not totally, I didn't permanently delete it, but I did deactivate it. It had become so much useless drivel, I found myself more annoyed scrolling through my news feed than anything.

No, I do NOT want to play Candy Crush.

No, I do NOT care about your funny little dog pictures.

No, I do NOT care what you're watching on TV.

No, I do NOT care about the mundane errands you ran today.

My FB page stayed fairly quiet.  I didn't want to be "that guy" spamming my friends list with stuff they don't particularly care about.  So, if I'm not interested in what you're doing, and I don't really want to bore you with what I'm doing...  what's the point?

Not to mention, Heaven only knows how much time I spent zoning out there.  I have so many things I could be doing with my time.  Better, more productive things.

I've kept my Twitter (for now, anyway), I've kept my lil blog, and I'll hang onto G+ and Pinterest (because, really, Pinterest is GENIUS).  But Facebook.... don't let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya.

I get it.

Cone of shame?  I get it now.  I understand.  I AM YOUR PEOPLE.

I'm 11 days post surgery, and my belly itches like a mug.  Ain't that some junk?

Lessons learned

I bandaged up and went out for a run today.  Here are a few things I learned:

• Yes, I do need my inhaler.  Even for a mile.
• The post surgery can't-eat-much diet?  Not good for a runner.
• Find shade and park your ass when you start feeling faint for the above two reasons.

I was only able to get in 1.12 miles.  And it took me a hair over 17 minutes to get that far (don't judge me).  But you know what?  This was my first run in over two months.  

It also occurred to me that one week ago, I HAD AN ORGAN REMOVED FROM MY BODY. Today, I felt well enough to run.

Ain't science GREAT?!!

Something was rotten in the state of Denmark

*tap*tap*tap*

Is this thing on?

Yeah, I know it's been awhile.  Yeah, I know that like 2 people read this.  I haven't forgotten about my dear blog, but I really haven't had a whole lot to say.  I was running, and I was doing fairly well with it.  Sure, my times weren't pretty, but I had worked my way up to a 5 miler.  I have an app to keep track of my stats - really didn't feel the need to post them here.

So, like I said.  I was running.  And then, I didn't feel well. I'd had this "not feeling well" on and off for the last couple of years, but I'd get up the next morning and be fine.  Most evenings, I went on my run anyway.  Until I REALLY didn't feel well.  Like 5 days in a row of feeling so horrendous that I caught myself googling "how can you tell if you're having a heart attack?"  It was about the time of that particular google search that I had the epiphany that I was being utterly stupid and made myself an appointment with my family doc.

Long story short, after several office visits, EKGs (to rule out the "big scary stuff" first), x-rays and an abdominal ultrasound, my diagnosis was confirmed.

My gallbladder had gone rogue.

(Wait a minute.  What??  Isn't that what old ladies complain about?)

Anyhoo, I was referred to a surgeon by my family doc, met with him, and he was kind of a dick. So, I gathered referrals from friends and family and found someone else.  I had my consultation, scheduled my surgery date, and here I am 5 days post-op.  Bruised and tender, but feeling pretty sassy for having an organ missing. There's a new sheriff in town, you guys.

Have to admit, I'm super nervous about the race in September.  I think had things gone smoothly, I could have had myself ready for the 13.1 miles coming up in 7 very short weeks.  I wasn't expecting any hiccups, particularly giant ones that made me park my running shoes in the closet for close to two months.  I keep reminding myself - I'm not running it to win it.  I'm running it to do it.  Complete it.  Cross the finish line.  To show myself that I can.  It may take me a little longer than planned, but I will still cross the finish line.

Up and R-U-N-N-O-F-T

(Editors note:  DANG, I love that movie!)

I've been feeling pretty sassy about my running self.  Up until this week, that is.

I had one really kick ass day.  Like hard core kick ass. More kick ass than all my previous kick ass days.  I was on FIYAH (so were my legs, but that's beside the point). Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone.  So I had a conversation with 2 fellow runners from work.

Me:  So. When does it stop sucking?
Runner 1:  Race day.
Runner 2:  Yep.  Race day.
Me:  Let me rephrase, when do I stop sucking?

I explained the really rad days, followed by the days when I want to die a minute or so in.  Their response?  IT'S NORMAL.

Seriously?  It's normal? Somebody couldn't have let me in on that little nugget of knowledge before I had myself feeling like a schmuck who will never finish 13.1 miles?  But that's alright.  Now I know I'm not alone in the bad days, I will take them as they come, and I'll do my best.  And I'll try to do better on my next run.

Oh Boy! and also, Oh Shit!

OH BOY!

The unofficial half marathon map has been posted here.


OH SHIT.

That is a lot of marathonin'.

BURNINATION!

I don't hate running.  I thought I would.  Truth be told, sometimes in the midst of running, there is some cussin' going on in my head. (Okay, you win.  A LOT of cussin'.)  So tonight, I pulled my data from my fabulous Polar FT40 since the beginning of the year:

11 workouts, ranging from 197-629 calories burned for a grand total of

(..... wait for it......)

3,758 calories BURNINATED!!!!

That, dear readers, is why I don't hate running.