Do you ever wonder why sitting in bed, eating cheetos and watching Survivor isn't a sport? I do. 

I've been training really hard (in my mind I'm killing myself, when in reality I probably look like I eat cheetos and watch television all day) and my body is really feeling the wear and tear. 

I ordered this THING, this styrofoam log, for lack of a better descriptor and it is a torture device. Kind of like the treadmill, free weights and shoes without support so I can 'feel.' Oh, please, I don't need all that to feel. I'm a chick, we FEEL everything. That's probably not what they meant. So...

I roll on this thing using the force of my own body weight to work out the kinks in my legs. Essentially, I'm forcing me to hurt myself. There has to be a group on the internet for this, I'm sure of it. It is so painful and breathtakingly so. Too bad you can't just order a masseur online and get them to come over and mold you back into shape GENTLY. 

I guess what I'm trying to say is that training to run a race isn't as nice as going to Barbados and diving in clear blue water. Now THAT'S a sport! But, this sport? It's hard, difficult, painful and man, do I want to quit sometimes. But in the spirit of I'm-Not-A-Loser I keep going and going. That lung capacity thing is going to be the death of me, but it isn't taking me down without a fight!

I feel healthier, happier and energized. I feel like it's also helping transition to a new life, as though if I can do this, I can do anything! It's uplifting and motivating and my body is doing things I never in a million years thought it would be able to do. 

So now, when my sister says 'Uh, Nikki, there ARE people who shouldn't run, I think that's us,' I can look at her and say, 'Apparently NOT.'
Nikki Irish