It’s always nice to meet a fan… of the update post.
How We End Up Here
I promised @ a few months ago I would one day write a post that explained (or at least attempted to explain) why she and I spend such an inordinate amount of time together. Today is not that day, but I wanted to make sure you knew that there is an explanation and someday, you might be privy to it. Here's to hoping.
On Friday, pre-happy hour, post-9-to-5, @ and I went to the gym to work on our fitness. After a quick three mile jog on the treadmill, I found @ stretching in one of the empty studios. Ever one to impress upon me her skills, she made a reference to her Xtreme flexibility. I scoffed: Whatever… I can do the splits. She scoffed right back: So can I.
The verdict: Bitch, it was on.
Those of you who know me are probably only surprised that this lil' throw down took place in a semi-appropriate setting (the floor of a gym), rather than… I don’t know… the floor of a bar. Stone cold sober, @ and I warmed up. We pulled our legs over our heads, we touched our toes, we twisted our bodies around ourselves and held awkward poses… all in preparation for the big moment.
It hurt like hell. Do not misread… we did it. Both of us did. We were each about an inch away from split perfection. We called it a draw. But OH, the pain… it was one of those moments, which (thank God) are still fairly rare for me, when one is reminded that she isn’t as young as she used to be.
Bring it On: All of Nothing
In the locker room at Crunch…
@: Promise me something…
@: Promise me that you won’t look too good tonight.
Lou: I cannot promise that.
@: Oh it’s on…
Lou: You’re damn right it is.
Law of Averages
I decided if I could run six miles with only three hours of sleep after drinking three glasses of wine, then I would have no problem running five miles with five hours of sleep and approximately five beers. Math? No? Well then... the law of averages... Pi... z score... Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally. The equation is quite simple: (# of miles scheduled to run * hours of sleep)/ounces of alcohol + lbs of sheer determination to drink on a patio post-work on Friday.
Turns out, math is hard… but I was right.
You better believe I was up and at ‘em for our five mile run at 5:45am. I’ll admit, the run started out a little rough. I was ready to pack it in after about a quarter of a mile, but I found a zone of sorts after we crossed into plural mile(s) and it ended up being a pretty good run… slow… a solid hour… but good.
I consider it boot camp... for a half-ass runner with binge drinking tendencies (is there any other kind?). Drinking and running as a combined event takes practice. If you're gonna drink and run, you gotta want it.
Side note: During my run, I COULD NOT for the life of me figure out why my inner thighs were sooooooo incredibly sore (see: How We End Up Here).
Just Call Me “Girl That Lou”
And you thought the splits were one hell of a party trick. Next time you’re headed off to a wild and crazy shindig, bring one of these along and I guarantee you will 1) be the most popular person in the room and 2) encourage some serious spit-swapping. And really, why else would we all be drinking if that wasn’t the goal?
Sometimes I forget that I’m 27-going-on-28, and revert to behavior generally characteristic of drunk 18-year-olds loitering on couch-furnished porches. Sometimes it’s fine… hell it’s fun…until I wake up the next morning and realize that I am – Oh SHIT – 27-going-on-28 and NOT young enough to blame youth for my actions.
However, lesson learned.. the goal of the breathalyzer is NOT to score the highest. But, when people start throwing out numbers all casual like, one assumes that the goal is to go big. That's how competition works, damnit...
Oh and yes, sadly (for me and my dignity)... I believe I did "win." Once again, I implore myself to lock up the wine.
Those of you who spent time with me in the last three days know that middle age women LOVE ME this week. And I think I figured out why. I believe it is because I started spouting off advice - for free nonetheless - reminiscent of my mom's personal mantra.
"When in doubt... look hot."
That'll teach 'em.