Gardening = Workout?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's FINALLY nice out.  FINALLY.  I always feel so invigorated when I can open all the windows in my house and enjoy the breeze and fresh air. 

 

Even if the fresh air in my house occasionally smells like the papermill that I am 1/2 mile upwind from.  When it's humid, it smells like an old hobo's infected foot with sauerkraut on top.  When it's dry, it smells like straight up sauerkraut (which I actually don't mind).

 

But I digress.

 

Today, I didn't officially work out.  But I did do my gardening, and I'm counting that as a workout. 

 

I wandered around Home Depot looking for the right potting soil for a half hour.  I broke a sweat, but I think that's just because it was 85 degrees out and I had a hoodie on.  I didn't think my ratty ass gardening tank top with holes in it (one in the boob area) would be appropriate.  Instead of changing shirts, I added the heaviest damn sweatshirt I own.  WTF is wrong with me??

 

Anyway, then planted mesclun greens, spinach, swiss chard, watermelon, snow peas, snap peas, basil, chives, lavender, tarragon, oregano, mint, dill, and an unidentified herb that's too teeny to tell what it is right now.

 

I sat and enjoyed the hot sun on my shoulders.  I lugged 34 quart bags of potting soil up and down the stairs. I carried 10 pots onto the lawn, filled them with soil, planted my little veggie babies, then lugged full pots back up onto the balcony. I carried two gallon containers of water out to water them. I did all this for over an hour.  My legs are sore today...more sore than when I go jogging!  Heck yes, I count my gardening as a workout.

A few things:

1) The first thing to know is that FAT is not a dirty word.  This blog title, Fatty Fatty 2x4, is not meant to be offensive. If people can hurl FAT at me like it's offensive, I can sure as heck throw it around all I please.  It's not a dirty word, just like skinny, chunky, athletic, curvy, heavy, chubby, etc. People perverted the word, and I'm taking it back.

2) Please read, comment, laugh, share, whatevs. So many heavy people are trapped in a vicious cycle of secrecy and shame, and I'm putting it all out there.  I'll be documenting my 5k training and fitness progress, as well as any/all miserable but temporary failures that occur along the way.

3) Some of you may be surprised by this blog, as I've always been a huge proponent of body love, and that anyone/everyone is beautiful in their own way, regardless of the number on the scale, the hair on their head, the color of their skin, their scars, their body modification, their height, etc. I still feel that way!  This is purely health motivated, and not appearance motivated.  I am effing gorgeous, and I have an adorable husband who adores me whether I weigh 100 pounds or 1000 pounds.  This is not about the way I look, it's about the way I feel.

That's all :)

I went for my first "run" the other day



I put "run" in quotation marks because I'm basically calling it that to make myself feel better.

I ran for 40 seconds.

Three times.

And walked the rest of the half hour.  Embarrassing.

My feet burned like a mofo.  My back ached.  My quads hurt.  (Surprisingly, I wasn't out of breath.)

This is what I have to say about running.

This is how I was told running would make me feel:

Like a "10"...get it?

It doesn't.  THIS is how running makes me feel:

This shit is no joke.

And THIS is what I probably looked like:

Sexytown, population 1

With that said, I'm doing it again today.  

The search for running shoes

So.

I bought shoes on Wednesday. Nice, cushy, comfy, supportive, running shoes.  I love them.

This is them, in all their sexy glory.

Saucony Cohesion 5, my third true love, after Jeffer and Taco.

They're grey with some yellow and blue, instead of grey with white and pink...but it doesn't really matter.

I went to FinishLine first.  It was less than awesome.  Nothing makes you feel more awkward like being a fat girl at FinishLine.

The teenager there tried to sell me a pair of $150 Nikes. When I tried them on and said "these aren't the shoes for me," he took the box, put it away, and promptly disappeared. I had come with the intention to buy some damn shoes, but apparently if the Nike Crapster shoe doesn't fit, this kid had no use for me.  Amazing.

So, Jeffer and I went to the mecca of shoes in Green Bay...Rogan's SuperDome. 

We walked in, and were greeted by a salesman named Jacob. I explained to him what I was looking for: running shoes for my first 5k, I need a wide toe box and a narrow heel, and I over pronate like a motha.

He said...

"What's that mean?"

Aww shit. A running shoe salesman who doesn't know anything about stride or gait or feet in general. In fact, he also sized my foot while sitting down. Apparently while sitting, I wear a size 8.5. I can't even fit my foot in an 8.5.  Yikes.

The first shoes he fit me in were, of course, the $150 pair of Sauconys. Holy balls, they were comfortable.

It felt like Jesus was cuddling my feet.

But dang kid, $150?  Are you kidding? I wouldn't be at the home of the perpetual BOGO sale (tip: Rogan's is the shizz, and ALWAYS has a BOGO sale on) if cost was a non-issue.  After trying on several more pair of running shoes, I actually found that the $60 Cohesion 5's I bought kicked the crap out of these hella expensive shoes.

Take that, Nike.

And when all was said and done, Jacob was very helpful, despite my initial worries about his knowledge. He spent like 45 minutes with my husband and I, fitting us both in running shoes.  Yes, my husband bought running shoes also.

Seal carcass not included.

He got trail running shoes, in case he has to fight off wolves in the Alaskan wilderness like Liam Neeson. Or make a wetsuit out of a seal carcass like Bear Grylls. Or maybe so he can run with Taco at the dog park lake.  Whatevs.

Holy crap, this Boston business is frickin terrifying.

Can you believe this??  I feel like Boston just became the set of a Michael Bay film.  Frickin bombs going off, city on lockdown, possible terrorist at large...this is no joke.
Here I sit in Wisconsin, thinking "how can I help?  What can I do?  Where the hell is Watertown?"
My idea to "help" Boston is self-motivated. I feel like a greedy a-hole, kind of, but I'm going to do it anyway.
Really...it's not helping at all.  I got the idea off CNN iReport.
I'm going to train for a 5K.  I'm scared.  I'm probably going to barf and pass out at the finish line, if I even make it that far. I'm worried people will stare at my jiggly booty and my ham arms and my boobs and my belly.  But dammit, I'm doing it anyway. 
It may not actually "help" anybody but myself. But it's my small effort to show solidarity in these troubled times.

I'll use this blog to document my training and fitness progress, and document any setbacks that come my way.  HOPEFULLY I will at least inspire and remind myself what I'm doing and why...should I ever forget.

Do they even make running clothes for big ladies?

More importantly...do they make portable barf buckets?