Okay, I’ve completely lost all concept of how fast I run. Last night after work, I drove to a nearby residential area that served as the race route for the Sarah Jones Memorial 5k I ran earlier this summer. It's a flat stretch of road and a place I feel comfortable running alone close to sunset. So after an easy .5 mile warm-up, I set out to do 3 mile repeats at my slightly faster than desired mini marathon goal pace which, as we know from last Wednesday’s post, is about an 8:36 min/mile.
My first mile was in 7:22.
I’m not joking, not even a little, when I say it didn’t feel like I was going that fast. Trust me, I’m not sharing this with you guys in an effort to brag or to try and make you think I’m some kind of Speedy Gonzales (because I’m not. My running speeds are painfully average.). Like I said before, I no longer have a grasp on how to pace myself and can’t for the life of me gauge how fast I’m actually moving. I don’t know who or what to blame it on, and I’m not sure if this is going to hurt my training. If I’m flying out of the starting gate on race day thinking I’m running much slower than I actually am, I’m putting myself at great risk for tuckering out way too early.
My second mile was 7:26 and my third and final mile was 7:48. I felt pretty wore out and was almost crawling during my .5 mile cool-down.
But I felt incredible afterwards.
And then I went home and ate a whole bunch of macaroni and cheese … like a boss.
Ready for some Courtney Confessions?
I’m jealous of how well Clayton makes fried chicken. I don’t even like fried chicken very much, but my hubby makes it perfectly seasoned with skin so light and crispy, I’ll never need to step foot into another KFC as long as I live. And while his chicken is delicious and makes my tummy happy, it’s a tough pill to swallow because I definitely consider myself the cook of the family. This is just something I’ve never tried to make, mostly because I fear it won’t be as good as his.
I absolutely love visiting the ocean and would welcome the opportunity to live near a beach one day, but I’m terrified of 99% of everything living in it. You are all very well aware that the giant squid is my arch nemesis, but those vile, tentacled beasts are merely at the top of a very long list of creatures that make my stomach turn. In a perfect world, the only animals that would live in the ocean would be dolphins, manatees, whales, sea horses and sea turtles. Everything else would just … cease to exist. I don’t know if it’s because they live in a watery environment, but why is everything in the ocean gross looking? Sea cucumbers? The only cucumbers I like are on my salad, thank you.
And you know the expression, “It was like a train wreck, I just couldn’t look away”? That’s exactly how I feel about ocean animals. I’ve watched dozens of ocean life documentaries on Netflix and I DVR pretty much anything ocean animal-related on TV. Why? I don’t know. Last night, I honest-to-goodness called Clayton upstairs and made him hold my hand while I watched Animal Planet’s Great Barrier Reef. Slimy sea creatures make the hair on my neck stand on end and my body does this weird involuntary shudder thing. I kept looking over the edge of the futon because I was almost positive their were crabs down there, patiently waiting for me to go to bed.
I can't even begin to express how ridiculously excited I am about fall television. While I totally respect people who don't own TVs or those who claim they just don't watch it, I'm definitely not one of those people. And I don't want to be! I enjoy the heck out of TV and I find nothing wrong with snuggling up with a jam-packed DVR on a weeknight or a lazy weekend. Between The Mindy Project, Nashville, Ben and Kate, The X Factor (I'll be tuning in for judge Britney Spears!) and the return of Glee and all of my other favorites, I'm not even sure my DVR can handle it!
Sometimes I get really down (and even embarrassed) by the fact that I'm still getting acne breakouts at the age of 26 (very soon to be 27!). Some days my skins feels so gross, I don't even want to leave the house. Sure, I know that I don't have acne anywhere near the severity of what I did as a teenager, but when I'm surrounded by friends with nothing but perfectly clear skin, I can't help but feel insecure about the red splotches on my forehead and chin. And I've tried everything! Plain, unscented bar soap kept my skin decently pimple-free for a few months, but then my skin adapted and it was back to business as usual. Most cleanser systems work that way for me—I get amazing results in the beginning, but then it seems like my skin builds up an immunity to their ingredients and I break out no matter what. I wash my make-up off before I go to bed every single night, no matter how tired I am, and I'm adamant about scrubbing my face immediately after a work out. I don't understand, but I'm frustrated. I've never been, and I fear I never will be, one of those girls with dewy, beautiful skin.
Do you have anything to confess today?