Yesterday, Sunday, March 15, 2015, I completed my first 15k (9.3mi) run!
This year I decided to get serious about running longer distances. I’d dabbled with running 3-5 miles last year but wanted to push myself further. To be intentional, to train with a specific goal in mind. So in mid-January I registered to run a local 15k race. No more excuses! I’d talked the race up so much to myself and my running co-workers, there was no way I could punk out. It was going to go down.
As of last evening, I have officially registered to run my first 15k (9.3mi) race in March! It’s about to go down, y’all. There is no turning back (because I’m not letting $50 go to waste). I’m in it, to
win finish it.
I have been considering running this 15k since last year. Last year, I ran the 8k, which had been my longest run at that time. In fact, since moving to Portland almost 3 years ago, I’d never really run in races – I’d always walked with friends/family, making it more of a social experience. It actually wasn’t until I moved to Portland that I actually went running… for “fun”. As in voluntarily deciding to go for a run as my main form of cardio. And attempting to run more than 2 miles at a time seemed like a feat I would never achieve.
Last night OWN aired a documentary entitled “Dark Girls“. And both Facebook and Twitter were buzzing in response. Men and women alike seemed to be promoting the documentary and engaging in dialogue around color issues. Admittedly I did not get the opportunity to watch the documentary, so my comments in response to the “color/complexion” is largely drawn from discussions I glanced on social media.
**My dearest friend, sister, and fashion mentor, Shayna, will be delivering today’s guest post!! She’s got great taste so you all are in for a treat. As she helps me revamp my wardrobe for the low low (#gradstudentbudget), perhaps she can help you revamp yours and save us all some damn money. Enjoy!**
Hey there, Gemites! Gemians! Gemers! Thank you (and Notorious G.E.M) for letting me guest blog on over here this fine Monday morning.
A little two piece and a biscuit about me: I’m a fashion addict. I live at thrift and consignment stores. I’m pretty sure that I’m really a 70 year old lady in a 24 year old’s body. I love everything vintage, classic and 1940s and beyond. I’m probably cheaper than your great-grandpa during the Depression and refuse to spend more than $20 on pretty much anything. Yup, think that’s everything – now let’s get to the good stuff.
As I’ve mentioned numerous times to anyone who will listen/read, I have practically NO self-discipline. For whatever reason, it is extremely difficult for me to stick to a set schedule or deprive myself of something I really want. I think the freedom of grad school has done me in. I haven’t had to take classes since my 2nd year and I pretty much come and go to work as I please (and when I don’t please #siamese). I tend to operate best when I have structure but for whatever reason I can’t seem to set the structure myself. It’s like a need a constant parent or instructor to constantly tell me what to do, when to do it, and to punish me if I don’t obey. And that’s pathetic!!!
As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, this summer has refueled my desire to hit the gym and get my body right and tight. I’m tired of having jiggly body parts and fluctuating between fitting my clothes and them being too tight to be sexy. I want Michelle Obama arms, a tight tummy, legs to die for and a firm and round butt. So I teamed up with one of my closest homegirls (and classmates) in the Burgh to start a workout regimen of cardio and strength training at least 3x/week. For about 4 solid weeks we were going hard in the gym and the results were visible. And then the unthinkable happened…. Vacation.
Haha, you see what I did there? Relax. Natural hair. Typically using these terms in the same sentence could start an all out war of words (see: Monday’s post). And it’d fittingly be choreographed to swinging jazz music and complemented by catchy lyrics–“Talkin ’bout good and bad hair, whether you’re dark or your fair, go on and swear, see if I care, good and bad hair!” Sadly, I feel like this may have already happened…
This weekend I was at a retreat in the mountains for incoming minority freshmen to one of Pittsburgh’s universities. On the first night, the three staff persons and nine facilitators (all of us ethnic minorities) were enjoying some libations and youtube foolishness (especially this *smh*). Most of us know each other pretty well and have done this retreat before, so with the addition of EtOH, many outta order things were said and laughed at. At one point, I was discussing my hair regimen for the weekend with two Black women who have curly hair similar to mine and planned on wearing it naturally curly also. Now, there were six of us ladies, all with naturally curly hair (though three were wearing their hair straight). The only ones in the room with kinky hair were two Black men. So as I’m talking hair styling with the gals and the work that goes into it, one of the brothas with kinky hair says to us, “Why are you worried about your hair? All of you have good hair.” *there was a long pause for silence and honing of extreme side eyes* Then we all seemed to say in unison, “What do you mean GOOD hair?” The light-hearted, ignant banter that had filled the air that evening turned into hours of arguing about what “good hair” means and why it was such a charged statement.