The scene: Ali’s apartment. 5 am Wednesday morning. The window is open, letting a brisk breeze into the bedroom. (I say “bedroom” as if there’s more than one room in my apartment, but let’s get real here, it’s a studio, and my “bedroom” is just the side of the room the bed happens to be in.) Ali is warm under the covers. Ali hits snooze several times. Finally it is 5:30 am, and Ali knows she must get up. Brian, however, does not seem to be moving.
Ali: Good morning! I’m going running.
Coach Brian: OK.
Ali: You can keep sleeping.
Coach Brian: OK.
Ali: I’m going running…
Coach Brian: How many miles?
Ali: I don’t know. Probably five?
Coach Brian: That’s too many.
Ali: OK. Four?
Coach Brian: Go slow.
Coach Brian: GO SLOW.
So this morning, thanks to very strict instructions from my “coach” (Coach Cane, I miss you so much), I ran four very, very, very slow miles in Central Park.
I wore a hair scrunchie and a hot pink top, hot pink shorts and pink leg warmers. The only place I broke a sweat was in the creases of my elbows. I took this run very easy and not at all seriously.
See how good I am at tapering? Las Vegas, you should be afraid. I’m going to crush you so hard.
Hey remember that time I was having a Crohn’s flare? Haha. What a distant memory.
But really, I’m loving going for regular runs and not having to stop to use the bathroom. My life is much easier and I save a lot of time in the morning. I’m a fan. A fan with major steroid face, but a fan none the less.
In addition to complying with my easy-workouts-only plan for the week leading up to the Las Vegas Half Marathon, I’m also trying to be good about eating well, drinking a shit-ton of water (I pee about twice every hour, in case you were wondering, and no, that’s not really an exaggeration) and getting plenty of sleep.
I will sleep anywhere. Try me.
I mentioned yesterday that my Race Day Playlist is ready to go. I’ll share it, because I know you’re curious about just how many Celine Dion songs made it onto the mix. (Spoiler Alert: only two.)
I’ve got all my regulars on there, like the standard Britney and Lady Gaga tunes. But you’ll also notice some new songs that I’m pumped about, most notably some stuff by my friend Pitbull.
Confession: We’re not really friends. Bummer. But I like his music for running, and both “International Love” and “I Like How It Feels” (co-starring Enrique Iglesias, who is a handsome devil) make me excited about reaching a finish line.
So there you go. The playlist is 1.8 hours long, which means that if I run out of songs, I didn’t PR.
ANYTHING TO ADD? What song gets you to the finish line when you need a little extra push? I know the most popular answer will probably be “It’s All Coming Back To Me Now” by my girl Celine, but try to get creative here, OK?