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You are a (Half) Ironman!

| cheriarmour

I told you guys that we went downtown for brunch on Sunday, and we we were so blown away by the women especially, who were killing it at the Half Ironman (Half Ironwoman!) race. Well this girl did it, and lived to tell the tale. She gets a great big REBLAWG from me! Congrats girl, keep it up!

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IRONMAN RALEIGH 70.3 Recap

As you know, I kind of left you hanging in the last post. But, it was getting a little too long and I wanted to be able to dedicate a full post to the actual race leaving all the setup, nerves and anxiousness elsewhere (where they belong)!

Anywho, the day started early… REALLY EARLY! I peeled myself from my bed, got dressed, triple checked that I had everything where I needed it and the hubs and I checked out of the hotel and drove over to T2 where there were buses waiting to take us 40 minutes down the road to Jordan Lake.

At the lake, there was a minor freak-out about not having enough water, but that was quickly resolved and I set about readying my bike and other T1 supplies, getting body marked and waiting in line for the ever-lovely port-a-johns.

The transition…

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What running means to moi.

| cheriarmour

Yesterday was National Runner’s Day.  So I had to celebrate what’s brought me so much joy, so much comfort, so much much CONFIDENCE, and so much calm.

I can’t say that I’m an incredible runner.  I just love to run.

I dabbled in running a few summers ago, in the summer of 2010, when I took off some of the weight that college put on me.  I was teaching Zumba, and I was interested in this whole “running” concept.  So I didn’t really run, I more schlumped about.  And I continued to schlump as I began my second year of graduate school.  The schlump became more of a jog.  The jog became more of run.  And my first race was a Warrior Dash.  One race turned into many.  Many 5k turned into a half.  And a few halves turned into my first full.

Running means feeling comfortable in my body.  It means I’ve accomplished insanely cool runs that I never thought in a million years I’d be able to.  It means this blog.  And it means this super cool feeling I get when people tell me (as they did at the wedding I was at a few weeks ago,) “I love your blog!  You’ve inspired me to do my first 5k!”

That said, join me in cheering on my little sister!

Kimmy Treadmill

Kimmy’s joined us for our summer streak as she strives to take off a few pounds that Auburn University put on her, with an ultimate goal of doing a 5k in November.  I’m proud of her.  We ate, we drank, and she still had it in her to hop on the treadmill (positioned right in front of Jeremy Lin), and get some milaege in.  Keep it up!  We’ll certainly keep up with you!

Taking my show on the road – Charlotte Runnings.

| cheriarmour

Having a sick parent totally blows.

My mom’s been sick since about March, and I had to make one of my first real grown-up decisions, leave my job for a few weeks, and come home to take care of bidness.  A lot of the care-taking was falling on my dad, and that’s a lot for one person to deal with.

I packed up my stuff yesterday, and hit the road to Charlotte, a place I haven’t really live-lived since the end of high school.  So I’m taking this time to take my running thing on the road, try a few new classes, meet up with some old friends, and document the whole tour! (All the while taking care of my mama!)  Can I do it?  Ya darn tootin’!

So after I peeled myself away from this face…

Mini

…and I headed back to the neighborhood where I spent the majority of middle school, and some of high school, Willowmere in Matthews, NC, for a little tempo run, and to go see my childhood home.  I wish I’d snapped a pic, but I felt like a neighbor would come and beat me if they caught me taking a picture of a home where children dwelled.  I had to play it safe.

So I ran down memory lane.

I ran down the strip of grass where two little douchenozzles on the school bus held my bookbag, and I flailed around, turtle style, as I missed my stop.

I ran down where the bus would usually let me off and I had to carry my bass clarinet allllll the way home in 7th grade. (I was a weird kid.  I literally get embarrassed when I see people from my childhood because I don’t want them to recall how strange I was.)

I ran past the house where the late Fred Lane, a football player for the Panthers, was murdered during a dispute with his wife, a less happy memory.

I ran down the cul-de-sac where we lived, and tried to steal a peek to see if our playground was still up.

I ran past the kid’s house who I had a crush on, but who moved away to like Ohio in 8th grade.

And I ran down to the track where my Daddy, no lie, woke up early for freezing morning track workouts so I’d make the track team.

What a weird and cool feeling to literally run down memory lane.

Monday Motivaçion

| cheriarmour

So, I rolled over around 9:00am on Sunday morning (before you call me a big fat slacker, I worked out this evening, okay!), and met a dear friend, Melanie, for brunch on Hargett Street in Raleigh. It was prime position for us to watch our Ironmen (and women!) compete in Raleigh’s inaugural Half Ironman Triathlon.

I’m no triathlete. But I have nothing but the utmost respect for them. So when we heard that a Half Ironman was coming to Raleigh, I was blown away. I mean, I didn’t even know what it entailed, but it sounded hard. So I did what every Masters-educated woman. I Wikipedia-ed it. Duh. (Seriously, tell me I’m not the only one who can waste hours on Wikipedia). So a Half Ironman Triathlon consists of a 1.2-mile swim, 56-mile bike ride, and 13.1-mile run. And cool as it is, they picked my city to host it! I mean, Raleigh is up-and-coming. But it’s so cool to think that people were traveling from far and wide to my city to get their Ironman on.

If you can’t wrap your noodle around how incredible of an athletic feat that is, think about this. All my marathoners and half marathoners, close your eyes. Remember that relief you felt at the end of your first half marathon? Like “yay girl! I’m done!”. These folks swam. Weren’t done. Biked. Still weren’t done. And then went for a jaunty 13.1 miles through downtown Raleigh in blazing heat. That is an athlete. Here I am, feeling myself because I ran a rinky-dink little marathon, and these guys are killing it in four hours?

So anyhoo, after we finished brunch, we made our way over to the finisher’s chute. We saw a few of the guys finish, and they were cruising like it was a Sunday jog. Like they didn’t look stinky, sweaty, or stressed about finishing.

And then we saw her.

Laura Bennett, a 38-year-old woman from Colorado came down the chute. She was cruising, again, looking like her 13.1 mile run was an effortless jaunt. She smiled as Mel and I screamed variations on “You go, girl,” at the gazelle that was making her way down the chute. She was gorgeous. She was inspiring. And I’m in love.

Ironman

I may never run an Ironman. I mean I’d like to, but who knows. But if nothing else, Laura Bennett, 38, inspired me to sport it UP and get my tail in gear. If she can kick that much butt on a blazing Sunday, what the heck am I capable of? Congrats girl. You totally blew me away.

Who, me?

| cheriarmour

Who would thunk, that little ol’ blogita moi would’ve caused such a stir?

So last week, after reading through Maxim’s list of their Hot 100, I wrote a kinda tongue-in-cheek, but semi-serious article about my thoughts on the whole concept of the Maxim Hot 100.  If you didn’t read the article, feel free.  It was sort of cute.  Kinda funny.  And with each quip, at its core, was something a little bit serious.  What bothered me was Miley. What bothered me was the classification of women, as if they were pedigreed dogs at a show. What bothered me was the lack of diversity on the list in the first place. And apparently, that bothered some of you.  (Some of you guys loved it so HOLLER!)

I’m not up here to like rescind my statements.  I will feel the way I feel til there’s nothing in the world left to bitch about.  But for those of you who loved it.  For those of you who hated it.  For those of you who commented on it (respectfully 😉 ).  For those of you agreed.  And for those of you who disagreed.  I want to give you a big ol’ slap on the butt and thank you from the bottom of my heart.  I think I’m right.  I always do.  But it would be über annoying if I blogged about something and no one had anything to say about it.  So keep it up, dear readers, and I’ll keep serving you up the Cheri fierceness. Xoxo ❤

Seriously, Maxim?

| cheriarmour

I don’t hate men.  I quite like them really.  And it’s not my intention to turn my blog into a constant man-hating rant.  But the men responsible for the Maxim Hot 100 list should be appalled at themselves.

It’s that time of year again.  The time when People reveals it’s most beautiful people in the world (a title I find a little more acceptable because they actually list accomplishments, and reasons that the person may be actually beautiful inside, fancy that!), and the time when Maxim lists its Hot 100.  Gah.  Drives me bananas.  So I wake up, a few weeks ago, to some Twitter apocalypse where Miley Cyrus, the baby that was in those Hannah Montana movies I like so well (Hoedown Throwdown ladies!), is Maxim’s hottest woman?!  Look, I think she’s great, but this sort of sick feeling starting to bubble up.  And I nearly wrote one of my famous letters-to-the-editor right then and there.  But I knew it’d fall on deaf ears.  So fans of my prodigious musings, I give you:

Reasons Why Those Fools Down at Maxim Need a Slap.

1.  We (women) are not cows.  This is not a country fair.  Therefore, scan the room, and have several seats, because ranking women is so pre-voting rights.  Boys do that in middle school.  We’re adults.  We don’t do that any more.  It’s gross.

2.  Miley Cyrus is 20.  She is a child.  I am 25 and I recognize this.  And putting that poor girl in a bikini for a bunch of pervs to ogle is just wrong.  Would you like people to look at your 20-year-old that way?  No?  Then Why would you do this?  Billy Rae can’t make her do anything he says anymore cause she’s an adult, but you don’t have to go putting kids in your mag looking like that.

Miley3.  The lack of color is blinding.  From the quick, nauseated scan I did of the 100, I saw like 4 black women on the list.  You’re trying to tell me that black women aren’t pretty?  Actually, I’m fairly certain that’s exactly what you want the world to think.  And it’s not just black women that are underrepresented.  Can we get some Latinas, some Asians, some color up on that list? (Seriously, that’s why I stopped watching the Bachelor/Bachelorette years ago.  When “Flava of Love” is the best thing that folks have in their minds to represent women and men of color dating?  We’ve got a serious prob, Bob.)

And finally…

4.  If you insist on listing, or ranking women, can you at least do it for their achievements?  I’ll admit that I liked Hannah Montana as much as the next girl.  But Michelle Obama is a lawyer, mother of 2, gardens, and has arms like a goddess.  Shakira is a mother, an international superstar and a humanitarian.  Angelina Jolie has a million kids and is speaking on behalf of those women who don’t have a voice (kudos on your latest, hon).  Oprah has paved the way for the next black female billionaire.  Doesn’t that count for something?

Rant. Over.  ::drops mic::

I was such a slob kabob today.

| cheriarmour

I wasn’t feeling great. And I didn’t make it any better by watching hours and hours of “Keeping Up with the Kardashians,”and drawing the blinds. Watching a show on a day where you feel less than stellar about yourself featuring a family of insanely gorgeous Armenian bombshells does nothing for your self-esteem. As I lay there watching Bruce Jenner (who may be one of my favorites in that family) contemplate doing a little something-something to his face to fix the damage a doctor had done in the 80s, I began to fantasize about the work I’d do, should a plastic surgeon magically appear, free of charge, in my living room. I dreamt my breasts were lifted and reduced, and that I’d magically begin frolicking on beaches in teeny fringed bikinis, similar to Rihanna, and that my new boobs might just stay in place without any worry about them flopping out of the suit. My mind wandered further. How long would this imaginary surgery keep me away from the gym? Would I gain weight as I recovered from this imaginary surgery? This surgery was compounding my imaginary life.

I’m aware that this line of thinking is insane. And 93% of the time, I’m normal . I’m super intelligent, and I’m an ugly girl at all. I place a premium on treating people well, which is the number one factor that contributes to beauty. But evvvvery once in a while, that sneaky little rude thought weasels in. So I wanted to see, and sort of make sure, that I’m not alone in this irrational line of thinking. So I posed this question to a lot of you a few evenings ago, and I was shocked to see a lot of you had the same weird hang-ups about your body as I do. Comments poured in. A lot of you hate your stomachs. Your legs. Your feet. Your thighs. And the most insane thing? The majority of these comments came from smart, beautiful, and last but not least, healthy girls. Girls who were not only beautiful on the outside, but girls that I know for a fact had accomplished and lived through incredible feats. Girls who work for non-profits. Girls who successfully manage a hectic work schedule. Girls who’d picked up and moved across the country with no fear, and no family.

All this is to say, I think it’s okay to have those days when you doubt something about yourself, even if it’s physical. But those perceived flaws are likely only a flaw to you. If you keep on being an awesome girl with a sick personality, those little things, only perceptible to you kind of become non-existent. Cause who really cares that you have big boobs when you right a sick blog, right? 😉

Summah motivation – I’m going streaking!

| cheriarmour

The weather is getting warm, and the heat, plus North Carolina humidity has this way of zapping your motivation for anything but sitting by the pool in a pink bikini with a cold Mich Ultra.  But alas, you don’t get any faster, musclelyer, and you don’t get paid for sitting around, sippin on kCals.  Womp womp.  Cue the RW Run Streak, here to save the day.

Streak

 

 

During those long hot days, there aren’t really any races to motivate you.  For the past few weeks, I’ve literally had to drag myself, kicking and screaming, either to the gym, to the mat, or to put running shoes on.  And I always feel better during and after the workout, but the getting started party is like so….::side eye::, ya know?  So the RW Run Streak is this thing where, from Memorial Day (yesterday!) to the 4th of July, you run at least one mile, every day.  It’s a 39-day-streak, and it gives me a reason to add a mile onto whatever it is I’m doing, plus it gives me a sweet excuse to turn that iFonuh on selfie mode and grace your computers with my sweet mug.  So RW Run Streak, Day 1?

Streak 2

 

Hawt.

So I tried this new thing yesterday…

| cheriarmour

So I have my new car, and since I’m saddled with a teeny car payment (it’s big for me!), I’ve been budgeting a looot more tightly.  Brown-bagging the lunch, seeking out more free/less expensive group x options, and running (which is free) a ton!  Which I must say, it’s kind of a nice feeling to actually have a sense of awareness about where my money is going.  But I digress.

I live about 2-3 miles from my job.  And I’ve started to become a little tired of watching my gas dwindle away from these little back and forth trips I’m making to my job.  It’s unnecessary.  And I’m not helping the earth.  So while I save up a little cash for a bike (and lord help, this means I’m going to need to learn to put a helmet over my huge hair), I decided to try running to work.  Get a little exercise in, run to work, and run home.  So how’d it go.

So Raleigh is hilly.  I had to plan a route that was a little more roundabout in order to avoid a gnarly hill.  It was pretty unavoidable. 3/4ths of the way in and I was cursing my decision, and running about 6 minutes late for work.  Dang.  I should’ve left a little earlier.

I’m going to challenge myself to run to work a few more times, see how much gas I can save, and build a few more miles into my day.

Challenges with this plan.

  • Packing.  I had to stow my keys, $5, and a few chews for my low blood sugar in a belt.  On days when I need a little more, this may become challenging.
  • Time.  I didn’t build enough time.  But for incidentals, I need to block off at least 30 minutes for me to get to work with enough time.
  • Clothing.  I need to waterproof some makeup or something.  I looked heinous at work yesterday.  I could feel judgment piercing me from people’s eyes.  I felt the need to caveat each time someone looked at me with “It’s not my fault, I ran to work today”.
  • Stench.  Oh my god.  Like.  I cannot with the way I was smelling yesterday.  To be fair to myself, the funk was two-pronged.  I’d taught a Zumba class earlier, so the Zumba sweat, layered with the budget sweat, added to me smelling like a horse.  I smelled like a horse.  I really sincerely apologize to all my co-workers, and I commend them for not making any comments to me.  Any comments would have been deserved though.  I need to figure out a way to leave some wet ones, some baby wipes, and some touch-up makeup at work.
Before...you don't want to see the after...
Before…you don’t want to see the after…

So I challenge you, if you can do this safely at any point this week, to build a few extra miles into your week by running to work.  Oh, and Happy Memorial Day, guys!  Werk!