Let’s chat.

Guys, my Ragnar is three weeks from tomorrow. Three. Uno, dos, tres. No substitutions, exchanges, or refunds.

Holy. Fuck.

So I figured that this week I would get my shit together since the last few have been, shall we say, less than stellar when it comes to, you know, WORKING OUT. Actually, I’ve been a slacker and a half. Most of me cares about that. That other part? It keeps asking me to eat more Thin Mints. I’ve been obliging.

This is….not the best mindset to have. Trust me.

I mean, not the Thin Mint part because they’re fucking delicious, but you know, the other part. The slightly not caring about training part.

At any rate, Tuesday I went out for a run. It was going to be a 12-mile run. It was going to be AWESOME because I am awesome and fit and in shape and am a badass and these are the things I was telling myself before I got out there.

And then I got out there.

And then I got about three miles into my run and my whole body, physical and mental entities alike, went “Well, fuuuuuuuuuuck this.”

And then I cried.

And then I got mad. Like, what the fuck, self? I BREEZED through 13 miles just a month ago and now I can’t even get an efficient QUARTER of that? This is bullshit.

It is a shitty realization to KNOW that you are nowhere near where you need to be physically. It’s difficult knowing that (my conscious decision of) getting less sleep has had a negative impact on my ability. It’s even worse when you know you’re further away mentally. Because that’s what it is. It’s a mental thing.

I have been SO focused on other shit lately….quitting the hockey blog, spending weekends away, the boyfriend….that my entire focus of “run run run run run” has fallen by the wayside. This is not what I want.

It is unacceptable. I will not accept it.

So I went out yesterday for another longer run. It was MUCH better. Still not quite where I want to be, but that’s even more motivation for me to get out there and PUSH MYSELF.

I have three weeks to do everything I possibly can to bust my ass into better shape. I have three weeks to sweat through some 90 degree days and double-digit mile runs. I have three weeks to get out and LIFT and be sore and push through those days where I can hardly move. I have three weeks to shake myself into this new (though INCREDIBLY delightful) routine I’ve got now. I have three weeks and then I will run what will, I’m sure, be one of the coolest races of my life.

Three weeks.

Let’s fucking do this shit.