Walking Disaster

…Because clearly, I hate myself. What sort of colossal dipshit would choose November, the month dedicated to overeating, to challenge themselves physically? Oh that’s right. My dad and I would. If competition, clever insults, and shin splints were classified as typical family shenanigans, ours would be the perfect case study every time. Unfortunately, this sick desire to compete and (more importantly) win at everything is inherent, so when I found out my dad was on track to run eighty miles in one month, my first instinct was not support or pride…it was a sharp realization that I now need to run ninety miles in a month…and thus, my journey began. I won’t say my starting weight, because that’s not something I’m brave enough to do on the internet, but hopefully I’ll be able to say how much I’ve lost at the end of this. Weight loss is not the goal, obviously, the goal is to crush my dad’s distance because he is 600 years old, and can somehow outrun AND outpace me. Unacceptable.

Day 1 was good because I began on a Monday and that’s kind of nice; bad because this Monday falls right after Halloweekend. And I, stupidly, drank all the beer in Southern California. That’s right, not a nice slimming way to get drunk, I choose beer. And then I chose vodka, and then champagne, and then more beer and then more vodka… suffice to say, I drank a lot of calories on Saturday and then due to my hangover, I ate a lot of calories Sunday…like two boxes of mac n cheese worth of calories. And I’m due to start my period. My timing is the actual worst.

I tried to wake up in the morning before work to run, and decided to sleep instead — basically already operating at a loss. So after work, and after a sip of 5 hour energy, I set off on the first of many. I ran on a typical route by my apartment, which includes two massive hills, but those are possible this time of year, because the weather is not too hot or cold, and I can get lost in my head. I run without music, so it’s actually really refreshing to start the week with an outdoor run, to sort my thoughts, plan ahead, and win a few hypothetical arguments. 3.2 miles done.

Days 2–5 are mostly the same. Because it’s shark week, and I know my mood and motivation can switch at the drop of a dime, I decided to do my running in the morning before work for the rest of the week. That way I could be half a mile in before even noticing that I had started. Side note: I was totally right to do that — if anything is predictable, it’s my hormones making me unpredictable. Wednesday I got mad at my roommate for cooking too loudly.

Unfortunately, because it’s fall and I needed to leave at 7:15 in the morning, this meant I needed to use a treadmill, which as any outdoor runner knows, is purely a last resort. There’s something about it that drains my motivation — whether that’s because it feels equivalent to being a hamster on a wheel, or because you can watch the numbers tick by at a much slower pace than you think you’re going, I’m not sure. I just know I don’t love it, but it gets the job done. My solution? Set the pace and incline at the beginning, these days it was about 10 minutes/mile with a small incline, then throw your towel over the numbers so you don’t see them. Last step? Start Drive to Survive on Netflix so you can finally see what Max Verstappen has been complaining about. (And then realize it’s addicting so you continue to watch it while “working” and then before you know it, it’s only day 5, but you’re already on season 3 episode 1 and it’s a total buzzkill to hear about everything shutting down last year, but you also totally get why Max hates it, because he and Danny Ricciardo are totally friends Netflix! What the hell?!)

Missed day 6 because I was helping out my friends and drove their kid to his soccer game at the ass-crack of dawn, which apparently included warming up with him pre-game and doing some extra practice by being his goalie post-game. Fun mixup for sure, but I haven’t played soccer for at least 10 years, and it turns out that lateral movement was too much for my octogenarian joints, so day 7 had to be at least 6 miles. Luckily, I’m a badass, so it was no problem. Even though the bays/beaches in San Diego somehow still have hills (thank you bridges), it was a beautiful day, and it was perfect weather, so it was not a problem.

Days 8–12 had more of the same. Since it was now Daylight Savings Time, and my little arm phone holder sleeve thing from Amazon finally came in, I started by running the usual route by my apartment in the morning. Outside with the sun rising, the birds chirping, and the apparently never ending sounds of construction, was surprisingly a great way to start the day. Plus I can now say that the big intimidating hill that I’m always dreading is just as hateful in the morning as well, but way more doable once the panic sets in about having enough time to shower before going to the office. Also, my calves were already hurting at this point, so on Friday I treated myself to a pedicure with an extra long massage because I deserved it dammit. Also did the 6 mile route again on Saturday, day 13 since I had a Friendsgiving thing on Sunday to prepare for…which brings us to day 15.

Day 15 was repulsive, and I hated it. Everything went wrong, everything was terrible and I found it offensive. I was too tired from staying out the night before…because evidently this whole thing has made me think 10 pm is late…and I ate too much at Friendsgiving so I felt like a bloated whale in the morning. This led to me doing everything on the treadmill, which was another terrible decision. I think I was trying to get the quota for the day done too fast, because I just wanted the day to be over, so I went too hard on that dreary, human conveyor belt (thank you daylight savings time for making five o’clock feel like midnight) and that was too much for my shins.

Day 16–19 were supremely slow seeing as I could feel the onset of shin splints, so I let myself walk if need be, and take breaks when necessary. So thanks for nothing, legs. I do so much for you, I give you ice when you need it, compression sleeves when you start whining, Advil when you’re hurting and I even give you bandaids when I drunkenly scrape you…and this is how I’m repaid?? Day 20 I ran around the bay, and it turned out there were a bunch of 3-day Breast Cancer walkers…and while I commend them for their effort and thought and generosity, you guys are ribbon bullies who couldn’t share a walkway if your obnoxious tutus depended on it. Literally got pushed off sidewalks and glared at all morning. And for the record, if you’re a man, just because you’re doing a walk for breast cancer awareness, that does not give you the excuse to wear the biggest, laciest pinkest bra you can find, and fill it with actual melons, while you wear camo shorts so that no one else could possibly confuse you for anything other than a red-blooded alpha male. I’m sure the micropenis is enough confirmation.

Day 22 and I was really slowing down. Whether it’s due to the upcoming holiday, or just general boredom, it’s taking so much willpower to get up and go outside and run. I think going into the cold water after my runs this weekend was really helpful when it came to my shins, so that’s not really holding me back, my negative amount of motivation is.

Days 23–25 were alright. I ran 7.25 miles on Thanksgiving to give myself proper time away from cooking stresses and allow myself the proper food and wine hangover on Friday. Which was smart, because the running I did this week hit me like a truck when I finally did stop for a day. I don’t think I moved off the couch for 5 hours straight at one point, and the only reason I finally did move was to go pee. Thank you to Succession and the steady stream of Kendall Roy’s fuck ups for getting my through this day. Days 27 and 28 were track days for me, so I could walk after sprinting for 30 seconds and pretend it was the same thing. By the time the 29th came around, I had hit my original goal of 90 miles in one month, so I took the 30th off.

90.73 miles down, and yet somehow I only lost 5 pounds?? Are you kidding me? I blame wine, and pie, and somehow Joe Biden for this. My dad was my main competition for this bullshit exercise and he loses 5 pounds every time his wife makes him eat a salad instead of a sandwich. I know weight loss wasn’t the goal but I want a refund. Also as I sit here typing this, my apple watch just gave me my December goal…to run 81 miles this month. Get fucked.

Things I’ve Learned:

1. If we make awkward eye contact, whether in the gym or running out in the world, and you don’t do that weird wave and dreadful half-grimace, half-smile thing, then I officially hate you and your eyebrows.
2. My pace and stamina are better when I’m outside, as is my self-discipline, but my running form/posture is better on a treadmill. I have no idea why this is.
3. Literally nothing about me changed. Not my muscle tone, not my weight in any significant way, not my mental health (which probably got worse in all honesty). I don’t get it, because before this I was maybe hitting 30 miles a month.
4. Not sure if KT tape and protein shakes have an effect, or if they’re a placebo…either way I’m using them.
5. Netflix or Amazon is best for the treadmill because there’s no commercials, Hulu is best for the spin bike because the 90 second commercials are the times to up the resistance and actually focus. I’ve studied this.
6. If you’re running a long distance, and you’re past mile 3…do not trust a fart. Do not.

I’m contemplating doing more monthly challenges, so if you think of one to try, let me know!