About Las Vegas… #Race17Medal16 #redemption #ChallengeMedal4

Redemption time. Time to get it. Go after greatness. Pull up my camo running pants, take photos in a tutu, get to my corral, and make history. Third time is the charm.

But it’s hella cold tho. I mean, like really. And I’m in like one of these hella late corrals… I’m going to be here a while, waiting, in the cold. I mean, she hype as hell on the mic, but it looks like it’s warmer on that stage than it is out here on this dusty pavement. I shoulda took a bathrobe from the hotel. #NBMA

Plans to meet Rikki before the race turned into plans to meet her exactly before we were ready to get in our Corrals. But, that didn't stop us from taking that picture in our tutus. You would not believe how anxious I was...about wearing a tutu. Not about the 13.1 miles. Or the fact that I had been getting it in the past few days Vegas style. No...a glittery tutu has me clicking my heels wishing that I was someplace else, and not in these camo running pants. And she was so gracious. I had to take a picture in it, because I promised, but she let me take it off for the run. I owe her big. Like my butt. That looked pretty damn big in the tutu...and kinda the same size in the camo running pants... #message

Okay, decisions, decisions. To stop at Mile 1 and take a photo at the Welcome To Las Vegas sign or not. I mean, I have one from last year. Well, I don’t “have” one. MarathonFoto has one. I mean, they keep it on their servers, but it’s a picture of me, so it’s like both ours. Anyway, I digress. Okay, I’m not gonna do it. I’m going to run this race as fast as I can. I got this… PR time…

*minutes later*

F*** that. I’m too cute to be passing up picture opportunities. Let me work on my pose and smile since I got all this time before my corral starts. *takes a selfie*

Start Line: I’m not taking a picture at that damn sign. It’s too cold. Just finish the race and be great already. Damn. Please?

Mile 1: Like seriously, it’s cold as a mutha out here. Who pissed Mother Nature off? I can feel each of my fingers. I think they hate me more than my feet will when I put those heels on after this… #ItsVegas *sees people taking the pictures at the sign but keeps running*

          I have no will power. I’m next.

Mile 2: I actually feel good. Like really good. I think this might be a good run. Sure I totally f’d up any hope of a PR with that 5 minute photo shoot. And, maybe it was a bit much to ask that lady to take a picture of me from her camera and text it to me. Point is, I’m the most fabulous person you know. And runners are hella nice. And her camera was better than mine in that moment. #MySmartAssPhoneWontLetMeBeGreat

Mile 3: Are. They. Giving. People. Beers? As in, beer from the finish line side of Las Vegas Boulevard. As in, people who are only 3 miles into the race. And, you’re not going over there to get one because, why?

Mile 4: My hands feel like they are made of adamantium. I just cut my tongue trying to pop one of these Jelly Belly energy beans. Man…that means Wolverine probably can’t eat finger foods when he’s mad. That sucks.

Mile 5: Wait, why am I running in Las Vegas? Because it’s fun? Oh, okay. Just checking. I mean, I didn’t get that from what I was doing right now, but if you say so. However, the fact that this air is so fresh and so clean, I’m only like 75% upset that I’m out here freezing. Like seriously…people still smoke? How is that even legal?

Mile 6: This is when the strip gets interesting…I wonder how much I could pawn my common sense for? It’s not like I use it ever. I mean, current situation…

Mile 7: I want some french fries. From McDonalds. Man it’s cold. Maybe Riki was on to something with that whole tutu thing. I’m f’n freezing! Mother Nature hates every part of me.

Mile 8: I think I need to use the bathroom. I’m not going in those porta potties though. Those things are fckin disgusting. *pace gets slower and slower* Okay, I mean, they aren’t so bad. It’s not like I don’t have this lovely hand sanitizer with me. I mean…they brought them all the way out here for us, so I should maybe use one. *peed so long I almost missed The Return of the King*

Mile 9: Yoooooo I’m like fckin speed racer tho. Where did I get all this energy from? I mean, I literally cannot see anyone’s face because I am moving at the speed of light! Yasssssss running!

Mile 10: I wonder what this gu would take like spread on crackers? Or apple slices for that matter. Imma try that. I bet it’s hella good. You’re welcome life. You are welcome for that.

Mile 11: I know what, if this lady runs in front of one of my epic race picture faces one more time…I swear fo’Lord she ain’t crossing the finish line with her shoe laces. Yea, I’m petty. So what.

Mile 12: Wow. These people next to me have run 20+ miles in the time it took me to run 10+ miles. That’s pretty amazing. I am also running very slow. I am actually Speed Racer’s alter ego…

Mile 13: You know, it’s just cold enough for me to perfect my Kappa shimmy. *begins to shiver/shimmy uncontrollably to the music…on beat ‘cause I’m fancy* Where Cori at??? #Yassss #UCA #StadiumParkShenanigans

Mile 13 (0.1): Pictures are stupid. Why are you trying to take a picture of me when you should be handing me a martini? I’m not smiling for you. I’m not here for that.

Finish: My medal please. Thank you very much. Now excuse me, they’re waiting for my photo shoot. Hair and make-up!! *snap*snap* Let’s make this happen! I’m on a schedule.

Man, and believe me, there was a photo shoot. Like literally every photographer that works for Marathonfoto was there. I just wanted to take a picture Jesus, and get some chocolate milk. But it took forever to get past that part! But when I did, I drank that chocolate milk like it was Sunday morning and I was sitting in front of the TV watching cartoons trying to not get ready for church. Yupppp Thundercats… And then I went back for another one.

Things got bad though when I got to the banana station. I reach for a banana and was like, that’s weird because it was super soft. So I figured that particular banana had been out in the casino gambling and things didn’t turn out so great so I reached for another. But they were all the same. Now, I have had nothing but WONDERFUL things to say about RnRLV despite not getting a medal the first time #NeverLettingThatGo but that? That offense? That crime should be punishable by shin splints! I NEED MY POTASSIUM SIR! Those bananas felt like pudding on the inside! Who puts the pudding inside the banana? I can’t deal Jesus. I’m trying to stay near the cross Lord.

And I realized that I had all the time in the world to have that thought completely because I was still in the medical tent area. When will this ever end? I just wanna get my remix medal and get some eat. You can’t open things very well with adamantium hands. They aren’t that flexible. And my feet are giving me their 30 minutes’ notice. So I have to move with a purpose.

When I got back to my room, I looked down at my race bib and my medals. I ran a second race with those 3 words…sweet and simple. Run to Win. Those were the words Meb placed on my race bib yesterday. We all run to win. But what are we winning? Certainly not these race medals; we pay for these…its part of the fees. And if you don’t come in first, technically, you lost, right?

Well, technically yes…but technically no. What does it mean to “win”… What will it take to impress the critics? How many impossible things can I make into blog posts? We’ve often associated this word with being the first one to cross the finish line. That was my mistake entering into this #14in2014. I had a goal. I had a plan. I knew what I wanted to do. But, I never defined the word. And after every single medal, I was closer to a goal, and farther away from that feeling. From feeling like I won. Like I did it. I spent the whole year going after a goal, because that’s what Mr. 20D says I do.

I did not create the rubric for what it means to win. I won’t make that mistake in 2015.

I’ll define it. And I’ll do it. …and I kinda want my tutu back.

This Race: Rock N Roll Las Vegas #StripAtNight, Half Marathon, Las Vegas NV
Medaled Miles to date: 92.97 miles

Total Raced Miles to date: 116.07 miles 

-2 Medals To Go ǁ 114% Complete

(Challenge Medal 4, 20 Medals ǁ 143% Complete)

Camo Aint Coverin' This!

So, I told you all about that challenge my lady-women-female type friends were doing, right? And how I slick didn’t participate but blogged in my attendance a few times? Yea, that. So, one of the challenges was:

Day #13, Wear something you never would: This is going to sound a little crazy, but the hardest thing for me to get used to when I move to San Francisco from NYC was that no one wears heels here! I mean, my feet are grateful, but I now feel a little self conscious walking into a restaurant in pumps. But today I am challenging you, and myself to wear something you normally avoid. For me it's heels. What it is for you? Snap a pic and post it for us.

Here's why what you wear matters. When you put on sweat pants, ill fitting jeans or a worn-one-too-many-times sweater, you feel sluggish, low energy or flat and very often we'll reach for a sugarly pick me up to get out of our sweat pants induced slump. When you wear something fun, edgy, even exhilarating, you feel ah-mazing, and you no longer need food to give you your jolt of fabulous. Your shoes did that for you. Sure, clothes aren't the whole story, which is why I spend so much time talking about the inner work in Live More Weigh Less, but it seriously helps a lot.

And much like one of my friend-women-ladies doing the challenge, I thought, what wouldn’t I wear? Or at least give a try? I love trying new outfits! Accessories? Bring it! Shoes? Right…exactly. I am all about changing my style, doing something different, and reinventing my wardrobe. Of all the challenges. I knew this was the one that would not challenge me. At all.

Then I got ready to run. Challenge on.

I don’t wear running shorts for long distances because, aside from the fact my thighs are cottage cheesy and taking away from the awesomness that is my calf muscles...there is the rub. And friction with 0.1 miles left is hell. Trust me. I rarely do the exposed arms thing because I want to run, not take off. And you don’t frequent flyer miles for the speed at which I run…so arms stay covered.

I always see people in the cutest running gear! It’s colorful. Tight fitting. Prints. Stylish. Chic. Headbands, that match the tank tops, that coordinate with the pants, that bring out the sparkling reflectors of the shoes.

Then there’s me. A long sleeved black top, black Spaulding running cropped pants, and Ascis Gel Kayano’s a half size larger because, well, feet need space.

I envy them because their bodies are beautiful, and mine is tragic. Like really, it’s a mess under here. Yea, I don’t let the numbers on the scale affect me too much, but the mirror? Ugh. I mean, it’s mine, and I’m stuck with it, and I’ll do my best to do right by it, but I also think it’s important to be kind to strangers, so I pretty it up.

It just so happens while Sarah Jenks was busy figuring out how to challenge us, I began challenging myself. As I was perusing the neutral activewear options, I came across a pair of camouflage printed pants. We know my love of camo, so of course I bought them. And I was happy about it.

Until, of course, I got home and walked by the mirror. And realized I had a donkey on my back and I was going to have to figure out how to stuff it all in those pants. Um…about that… *folds pants up, places them in bottom drawer, acts like it never happened, folds receipt up*

And I have really been chilling like those pants aren’t my bottom drawer taking up space that is not infinite. Until this text conversation with my Rikki, who’s running Rock N Roll Las Vegas with me! See she thinks it would be a cool idea to run-rock-drink-repeat in a tutu. And, she’s super willing to do ALL THE WORK. All I have to do is get ALL OF THIS DONKEY on my back in it.

Ma’am.

So, I thought I could outsmart her right? I love camouflage…surely they haven’t gone through the trouble of making tutu material out of that camouflage stuff. I’ve never seen a ballerina go to war. I respond *cleverly* that if she finds one in camo, that it would be the only way I would do it. Because it’s not 2014. And we haven’t put a man on the moon. And nope, we don’t carry around next to lightweight devices that control our every single minute. Nope…none of that.

I hate everything about every internet ever made. Ever. I’m like Scarface in Half Baked. F-U Pinterest, F-U Etsy, F-U Lightening speed data network, You cool, and F-U Google Search! I’m out!

What am I supposed to do now? Sarah challenged me. My women-female-lady friends challenged me. Rikki is challenging peer pressuring me. And the finite amount of space in the bottom drawer is mocking me. #MakeItStopMama

I mean I suppose it was bound to happen. I have been stretching people to their limits all year. Telling Forcing Demanding Asking them lovingly to do things they never intended their minds, bodies or pocketbooks would do. And they did them. And got some new found greatness at the end of it #MedalMonday. Became different and better for it. Realized things only that experience could have done for them.

And here I am in this room ready to cry real tears because my booty is too big and when I walk it’s like it has a mind (and social calendar) of its own and moves like it has somewhere else in a different direction to go. I literally almost had a breakdown when I accidentally looked back at my butt attempting to speak to a staff member. I stood, in my footsteps, attempting to figure out, how to walk back to my office, with my booty concealed. Dee talked me off the ledge and up the stairs via group text.

…and now a tutu.

Dammit. #OffToStretchTheStretchinessOutOfTheseCamoPants