Well, we did it. We are half way through our training for the Seattle Marathon, and did a mock ½ Marathon event last Saturday and took on 14 miles! Katelyn and Robin and I kicked BUTT….for about 9 miles. I swear the last five miles I was whining, almost crying, hurting, and being generally pissed off that I wasn’t done yet. Never mind that it was one the most glorious days I’ve even seen on the island, or that the loop around the north end of the island that we traversed was probably one of the most intensely beautiful places I’ve ever seen (OMG I actually LIVE here!!), it sucked. BIG TIME. When we finished, we almost crawled to the grass where my car was parked. We laid on the grass in front of the island’s restaurant contorting into unlikely stretches and moaning and whining. We got so punchy that we were pretty sure people thought we were high. We went home, grabbed kids and took them to the lake so that they could swim and we could kvetch.
Sunday I was pretty sure I was permanently crippled.
Monday, I had to get up at the usual 5:00am butt-crack of dawn and get down to the ferry to go teach Jazzercise after about four hours of sleep and my muscles screaming in misery. Honestly, I contemplated suicide. Just a little cyanide in my Aquafina….nah. I hear that’s a bad way to go. Much better to off myself by exercising….Death by Jazzercise, film at 11:00. Anyway, I got through the class…and of course I had to tell my class that I was dying of muscular failure, so they were actually encouraging and impressed during class. (man, I love sympathy) except during the standing leg routines where I alternately cued my class and whimpered. So, as hard as this all was, and as concerned as I am about actually finishing a full marathon at this point….nothing could have prepared me for the hardest part. Putting on pantyhose.
It all started fine, then escalated into an out of control horror of nylon, sweat, shower gel, and pain. Lots, and lots of pain. I hobbled to the showers after class yesterday morning, full of relief that it was over, not a little puffed up that I had done something very hard. I showered as quickly as a paraplegic is able and began to dress. I got a little too much sun on Saturday during our run so I of course used lotion before dressing, creating a lovely, greasy, wet, slippery coat to my person as I hastily threw on clothes. Still doing great, donning under-things, blouse, jewelry….then….the pantyhose. I don’t have an easy time with those things on a good day, and throw into that a greasy, wet body and searing muscle pain from my hair to my pointlessly painted toe-nails and you got problems. I sat down on the (closed) toilet seat and attempted to lift my knees to get my feet into the nylon and cried aloud in pain. After a little struggling I got both feet into the lycra death traps and stood to do the panty-hose dance and wiggle myself into them. Have you ever tried to put on control top pantyhose when your legs are wet and/or greasy? It’s the absolute worst. I was slipping and sliding all over the bathroom floor, grunting, twisting, and praying I wouldn’t put a nail through the damn things. Also, I continue to sweat after my shower for at least an hour and was definitely breaking a sweat again adding to the misery as I whimpered through the pain and snarled through the frustration. Finally, mission accomplished, with my lower extremities properly encased in their spandex prison, I exhaustedly continued pulling on the ivory skirt and the (WHY?!?) red D&G pointy heels that hurt my poor tortured feet, and trudged to my car to get to work. As I drove to work I thought about all of the physical accomplishments I conquered this past weekend…and I have to say, the pantyhose debauchal was not far down on the list of the hardest things, and it makes me wonder what on earth is wrong with me.
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