Blood, sweat, and treadmills.

Tonight I met the male reincarnation of Jillian Michaels. As a result, I am bleeding, bruised, and very well may vomit.

Shawna and I took the plunge, you see, and started on a trial membership at a gym for a month to see if we like it before joining. When you join this particular gym they make you do an assessment whereupon you have a free session with a trainer and they tell you how much you suck. I had my assessment today at 9 p.m. It turns out no one works out at 9 p.m. on a Thursday, which is one thing I had going for me tonight.

The trainer first began asking me about my fitness goals and game plan, etc. My first mistake was wearing my marathon pink-skull t-shirt (Shawna told me to, cause it makes me look hard core). My second mistake was telling him I've lost over 70 pounds and just ran a marathon. Clearly, he had the wrong impression of me after those statements. Hardcore, maybe, but athletic and coordinated? Hardly.

He asked if I was warmed up, and I said no--off to the treadmill we went. He told me to stand on the sides and set the treadmill to a 7.0 mph speed. That's an 8:34 mile. I do not run a mile in 8:34. It went something like this:

Trainer: Okay, jump on.
Me: Um. I'm really slow, just so you know, and not used to treadmills.
Trainer: Oh, you'll be fine, just go for it.
Me: THUMP.

Yes, I face planted. Hard. On I jumped, and back went my feet. I caught myself with my knees and my elbows, which are now bruised and bloody. Of course, that wasn't enough, as then the trainer decided to save me by grabbing the back of my pants and sports bra and lifting me into mid-air. There I was, flying through the air by my clothing, as my pants slid down and I was left thinking, "Oh lord, they're going to see my vagina."

Trainer Man apologized profusely. In my attempts to seem hardcore, I said, "Oh, no worries, but I might bleed on your treadmill."

It didn't end there--I went through his whole, hardcore workout. Think lots of lifting, sweating, grunting, and bleeding through my open treadmill wounds. And he made me jump on one of those little platform things. I see people doing it on The Biggest Loser all the time, and think it looks easy--those bitches are less than easy! Finally, I finished, and he told me he was impressed because I'm hardcore. I ran home and told Shawna all about it, and she claims that she is going to refuse to go on Monday to her assessment. Then we ran to the neighbor's house to tell her about it.

Did I mention I face planted?

Dolly Parton is on Leno right now, and I have to ice my legs. Good night.

So.

I kind of fail at resolutions. Blog regularly? Not so much.

Good news--Shawna and I have actually joined a gym, on a trial basis at the moment to see if we like it, and tonight is the inaugural visit.

That is, if she ever comes home to go with me. Avoidance, maybe?

My new job is awesome, but makes my brain hurt, and I very much need a nap.

What's up, blogging? That's all for today.

November resolutions, biotch.

Tonight we discovered that Shawna is the alpha female in our apartment. When we began our roommate adventures, our theory was that I would make Shawna healthier by influencing in our ways. Instead, there has been beer. And cupcakes. And Wednesday night fast food night.

As such, we have decided that I should turn that around and impose my healthy ways on her.

For November, our goals include:

1. Join a cheap (very, very cheap, but hopefully not ghetto fabulous like last winter) gym in order to minimize our beer bellies. We can't give up beer, but we can try to offset it.

2. Shawna: "Take up smoking! (giggle giggle) It's very Parisian." Not a goal. Our goal is to continue not smoking, as smoking is gross and makes me want to die.

3. Eat vegetables. Many vegetables. Less bacon, more spinach. (Shawna just said to put less bacon, more chocolate. NO, no I will not)

4. Replace Wednesday night fast food night with Wednesday night SALAD NIGHT!!!! WOOOOO! (Shawna: "This is ridiculous.") This does include fast food salads. And BLT's, cause BLT's are awesome. (Shawna: "With LIGHT ranch dressing!")

5. Ride our damn bikes at least once before it snows. Those things have been chained to our stoop all month.

6. Blog every other day, at least, as we suck at blogging lately.

7. Enjoy a 10-day long bikram yoga fest, while I wear shiny, silver spandex pants for no reason at all.

8. Read "Julie & Julia" as we've both checked it out twice from the library with little results.

9. Drink water. Lots of water. Hydration is key.

10. Stay awake for the entire showing of "New Moon" at 12:07 on opening night (dressed up, of course, cause we're cool and mature). Caffeine is our friend.

Random photos of our fall adventures without any explanation.

Random things Shawna says that kind of creep me out sometimes

It's come to my attention that Shawna is incredibly random. Last night I attempted to give her away on Facebook but it didn't work. In the past few days, she has said things such as:

Me: I'm going to bed.
Shawna: I hate when you go to bed! We never bond! You're always asleep!
Me: I'm sorry! I'm sleepy! Don't be mad at me!
Shawna: I'm only mad cause I like you so much!

Shawna: (touching her super-glued fingers to my arm)
Me: Don't touch me!
Shawna: JUST FEEL ME!

Me: (sleeping)
Shawna: BLOODY MARY! (while standing in my room and scaring the shit out of me)

I can't remember the others. But she's an odd roommate. It keeps me entertained.

Boo yah!

I ran 4.15 miles this evening. It was pleasant, with many autumn leaves to look at, and I kind of rocked it seeing as how I've only run once since my marathon. It reminded me that I do, in fact, enjoy running. Good to know.

Today I learned two things that made me very happy, one related to my health and one related to my job. Rock on.

It was a good day. Now if only I were a more dedicated blogger... Ha. Details of adventures to follow, as Shawna and I will be attending a Rocky Horror Picture Show event on Friday (with full-on tranny outfits) as well as celebrating Halloween with several beers on Saturday. I'm liking fall so far.

Like an 80-year-old woman...

I went for my first post-marathon run today--it took me exactly three weeks before I felt the urge to run again. Well, I suppose I felt the urge, but feeling like going for a run and mentally convincing myself to go running are different things entirely.

My ipod totally froze, thus the lack of record of said run. But it happened... I ran about three miles, through the lovely fall leaves in the park and up the running trail. I really enjoy living downtown with awesome running locations available just outside my door.

It hurt a little. I'm an old woman, clearly. Perhaps I shouldn't take a three week running vacation anymore?

Now, time to make butternut squash soup.

Rest, rest, glorious rest.

It has been two and a half weeks since I ran the marathon. In that time, I have not run once. I've gone on a tiny hike, and walked places, and cleaned house, and unpacked after moving, and started a new job. But my running shoes remain firmly in the closet, and my ipod still boasts of a last run consisting of 26.3 miles.

I'm okay with this. I'm thinking I might be ready to run again by this weekend, but as of yet I haven't had the urge. Running that much for month after month really had me worn out. Besides training for a marathon (as if that's not enough) I was dealing with heartbreak, career change, trying to figure out where I was going to live, other crap that does not need to be publicized on my little blog, etc. I'm glad I had the marathon to focus on, but right now I am also glad to take a little breather.

Fast forward a couple months after training began: marathon is conquered (hell yeah), I have a new (incredibly handsome and charming) boyfriend that makes me happy, I share an apartment with my good pal Shawna, my new career rocks, and I am happy.

Hell yeah! Now, time for my nap...

Couch!

Shawna and I are now the proud owners of a purple couch. He is very comfy, and we named him Francois.

We also moved him in a minivan, from which it was very difficult for me to escape.

Also, Mini Leslie is taunting me from the sidebar. Yes, I am aware that I have not run since the marathon. That takes a lot out of girl, biotch!

Good night.

Domestic goddess?

A couple days ago I was cleaning up a broken glass/smoothie disaster when I sliced my toe open on a shard of glass and found myself lying on the bathroom floor, leg in the air, calling my mother in a panic and saying, "There aren't any major arteries in your toes, right?" My house looked like a murder scene. Never have I seen a tiny cut bleed so much... I was lightheaded due to loss of blood. Cleaning + me = occasional disaster.

This morning I was cooking breakfast for company, and created pomegranate/bluberry pancakes as well as huevos con chorizo without disaster...well, except for the disaster of genre mixing, but oh well. I also decided to make hashbrowns, seeing as how we have twelve million potatoes, and somehow created a mass of potatoes that did not resemble hash browns. They tasted like potatoes, yes, but I'm not sure what they were. Apparently my cooking skills are in desperate need of attention. I'm excellent at the "single lady eating while standing over the sink" sort of cooking, but cooking actual meals for actual people has resulted in some less than desirable concoctions lately. I used to be able to cook, I swear!

This evening I was ironing some pants for work (turns out they expect you to look professional when they give you your own office, name plate, and business cards... terrible burden for those of us who don't notice wrinkles and sometimes still wear size 16 pants that are too big). Ironing + me = wrinkle domination, typically. The problem is that I don't have an ironing board in the new house, so I was using an ottoman and sitting on the floor. I was holding the iron on the hem for a second when all of a sudden smoke billowed up and I screamed in horror. The ottoman appears to be made of some type of very synthetic (and very melt-able/flammable) material. My iron seemed to be ruined, and I have a burn mark consisting of half an iron imprinted on my ottoman. I will pay someone if they can figure out how to fix such things! I did manage to get the synthetic crap off the iron, and then I finished my ironing on the flame retardent kitchen counter. Pants for work tomorrow--check. Glaringly damaged ottoman--check.

Martha Stewart would be ashamed.