We did it! We came! We ran! We hobbled to Fletcher's and drank Bloody Marys'. We could not have ordered a better day for the 13.1 mile jaunt. Warm, not hot, sun and a pleasantly cool reading on the thermometer. Thankfully the course was beautiful, trailing along Lake Minnetonka which took my mind off of all the hills-sort of. The goal was to just finish the damn thing before they dismantled the balloons from the finish line at 2 hrs and 25 mins. We strolled in easy, breezy, at 2:14: some odd seconds. Over 1,000 people finishing before us and over 500 people finishing after us (thankfully). Thank you to Martina and P-man and Nicki and Henry for picking us up at the finish line and taking us directly to greasy burgers/fries and vodka. Thank you to my Hubby for running with me, when he easily could have taken off and left me in the dust.

FYI: The rest of the afternoon I could be found horizontal, covered in ice packs to remove the heat from my irritated joints.

I wasn't up for the challenge of carrying a camera on the race (sorry). But, take a look at the official slide show and see who was caught strolling through a water station!

Hurtin' Fer Certain...

What the hell did we get ourselves into? When I said, "sure," I didn't really think he would do it. He says he's gonna do lots of stuff and never does. Of course I say that in the most patient and loving of tones. But, now it's done. Two entry fees paid for the Wells Fargo half marathon and now two prides are on the line with 4 weeks til go time. Today we logged 7.6 miles. My right hip was screaming, my left knee was throbbing and my right top molar had its own heartbeat. Yes, my tooth was mad about the run too. His right foot was causing him to run with this funny gait that made him look 90. Is this what it feels like to be 90? What is going on with us? Cardiovascularly we both coulda ran another 7.6, but our bodies were done. Two Tylenol each, three ice packs and and hour of good comedy on CBS tonight. I'm hoping it will help me forget we have less than a month until race time.

Strike!

It's tough out there. Try and turn on the tube without hearing about the woes of the economy, the qualms with the big bailout or the shrinking housing market. If your family is like mine you're feeling the pinch of the increasing unemployment rate and the sting of Cobra payments. All this on top of a typical February vitamin D deficiency, paired with the sub zero temps, and even the most jovial of souls are feeling a little blue. Personally the stress of it all compounds when my bed is unmade, my floors are unswept and I haven't had a good sweat in a day or so. It's too bad I don't come equipt with a meter that screeches at decibels only young ears and dogs can hear signaling it's time to switch on the endorphins. Today was one of those days. I was at my limit and slightly cranky at best. I hit the club in time to try a new(er) class and officially got my tail kicked. "Strike," is sponsored by Everlast and is a hybrid kickboxing/martial arts/weight lifting class that will make your rear end burn in places you didn't think possible. You're arms are fatigued by 1lb gloves on each hand and you swing a 9lb body bar around like a born again ninja. Nine pounds! Doesn't sound like much but try jabbing and blocking and moving that thing around for an hour and it's a guaranteed smack in your butt, back, shoulders, biceps, triceps and chest. It hits em all baby and logged 889 calories burned on my heart rate monitor in just an hour. And the best part? Let all that aggression burn from your pores as you simulate, "smacking someone side the head!" If you live in my hood, be there, 4:45pm each Tuesday, Anne is the fearless-exercise-nazi-leader, your gonna love/hate her!

We're freakin' nuts...

The alarm clock rang at 6:45am. The grind-n-brew did it's thing at 6:50am. I could hear old man Winter's frosty breath rattle against the bedroom windows. The thermometer registered at 8 lonely degrees. On any other morning it would have been torture to consider crawling out from under the pile of flannel sheets and quilts. I slithered out from my cozy nest, brushed my bucks, slapped on a little lip gloss and began the layering process. Five, count em, five layers of dry fit on the top and three layers of running tights on the bottom. One pair of cotton socks covered with some wools ones and a fleece lined stocking cap to boot (this is one way to work up a sweat). Cue the snow. I know, if we weren't from hearty Midwestern stock we woulda turned right around and called it quits. But, it's tradition, and debatably child torture, all in the name of a great T-shirt. Our second annual Reindeer run was 5 kilometers (3.1 miles) of undoubtedly, "fresh," air and fabulous company. I mean listen, if St. Nick can make his way through the white and wintery snow, so can Hank's all terrain stroller! In theory it looks like a day started in the right direction with a healthy does of outdoor exercise... Until we capped of our adventure with a greasy Chammps burger and two rounds of bloodies (don't forget the side cars). Well, afterall we certainly thought we deserved it. AND, just because my hubby LOVES it when I, "roll," my own home videos...