Three Days, Sixty Miles.
My feet are still swollen, a little bit. They told me that would be a side effect of walking 60 miles. That and sore hamstrings, shredded calves, chafing back sores, mouth ulcers, and a general sense of "uh, what next?"
Since I don't know properly how to sum up my experience on my own, I'll defer to the official summary, and add my own thoughts to there.
We made so many wonderful memories in those three days. It all started with Opening Ceremonies at Sesame Place, and a visit from Elmo and Cookie Monster.
So really, my day started out at 3:30 in the morning on Friday. I had to get up, shower, do a final once-over of my luggage (you had to pack all your clothes and your camping gear in one bundle that weighed less than 35 lbs), and drive myself over to Sarah's house. Her mom took us to Pat's house, and then we headed to our first surprise: Marion (the namesake of our 3Day team) had ordered us a limousine to take everyone to the start site! I felt like the mayor. It was such a nice show of support and love from that wonderful woman, and it wasn't the first time I'd be surprised and touched by such a display of gratitude.
At pit stop 1, kids from Maple Point Middle School came out to cheer and serenade us with some music.
I never thought I would be so happy to see a porta-potty in my life, but it turns out that it wasn't the first time I'd be so grateful for a non-flushing toilet that weekend. I'd been almost sick at Opening Ceremonies from the porta-vironment, so I made sure to tie my bandana around my mouth before continuing. But by the end of the weekend, we were such connoisseurs of the porta-potty that we could be in and out of there in under two minutes, if necessary, and we would get excited if we found a relatively unused one. (Okay, I just grossed myself out. Ick.)
We made the first of our many mistakes at that first pit stop; we were taking way too long to stretch and eat and pee and get back on the route. We were never able to move ahead of the last third of walkers on Friday. And the kids were cute, by the way. Their band played and they sang songs like... well, I can't remember what songs they sang, actually, but they were very cute.
The route wound through cornfields into beautiful Core Creek Park, past a cheering station in historic Newtown — which featured some lovely ladies in pink wigs.
The first cheering station was pretty overwhelming. There were people lined up on the grasses of churches and lawns, holding signs and clapping, saying "Thank you for walking" over and over again. It wasn't the first time I lost it that weekend, and every cheering station had me more and more emotional. Whether they knew walkers or not, people would be lined up on the route, saying things like, "Good job! Thank you!" or honking their horns as they drove past us. It's definitely a mood booster to have your own personal cheering section.
After a luau lunch and one big hill, we ended the 23-mile day on an old landing strip at Warminster Community Park.
Walking to this lunch was pretty hard. My feet at that point felt like they were smoking hot with "hot spots" (aka. the sites of future blisters), and I was starting to falter in my resolve to get through Day 1 without having to ride a "sweep van" to a pit stop or camp. People coming in the other direction would say things like "not long now," and I would try to believe them, but it was difficult. Plus, we were in a state park that was clearly leading sort of downhill to the river, and I knew the only way out of the station was up.
Again, a mistake. We took way too long at lunch to refuel and energize. The medical tent was full up, but I managed to grab a nurse and get my one big blister on my toe checked out. We found out later that they had taken 5 people to the ER already, and all told they had 100 IVs used for dehydration on the first day. Did I mention it was sunny and mid to upper 80s that day? Hot. Anyway, at lunch we ate, changed our socks, relaxed a bit, stretched, and got on our way.
Midway up the hill out of the state park, I got the distinct impression that I wasn't going to make it. My team, all athletic girls who are much thinner and fitter than I, were keeping up a decent pace, and I was just falling farther and farther behind as I struggled to catch up to them. I had to stop talking, because I wanted to save my energies for breathing. Once at the top, we met a team of women who'd done the New York 3Day last year, and they told us that they'd encountered a hill like that right before closing ceremonies on the final day. I began to worry at that point that they'd make us do the famed Manayunk Wall after all.
We got through the next pit stop (there were five each day), and after another almost impossible hill after a "grab and go" stop, I finally had enough. My feet were on fire at that point, and I knew that I could not make it to the second cheering station in Richboro or pits 4 and 5. I told the girls that I had to sweep. I started crying because I was so disappointed in myself; I felt like I had failed everyone who'd donated money by not being able to walk a measly 23 miles, not even a third of the total distance.
The safety guy who stayed with me kept radio-ing for assistance, but finally a van showed up. I got on the sweep van, and we had to go back and forth from the grab-and-go to camp. There were several women in tears, and one young woman who was so dehydrated she could barely talk. They took her right over the grass to the medical tent at base camp. Finally, I convinced the sweepers that I didn't want to stay at camp; I wanted to go back to the last pit stop and walk the final two miles with my team. They weren't happy, but I didn't care. It had to be done. A medical person looked at my toe and said that there was a good chance the entire side of my foot covered by the moleskin could become a blister by morning. I was not a happy walker when I heard that news.
Finally, an hour after I'd been dropped off, the team showed up. I could see the exhaustion in their faces. We'd heard a rumor that one neighborhood had asked to drop out at the last minute, so to make up the distance they'd made walkers zig zag through a development and add three miles, a total of 26 for the day, not 23. You could see the strain on everyone's faces. All they wanted to do was to get to camp, and that was it.
Once at camp, the mantra was, "Eat, THEN Shower." So we grabbed our gear (I was never so glad to have a light bag in my life), picked out a tent bag, and walked to our spot to set up our tent. Dinner was spaghetti; I remember because I thought I'd never had a better meal before in my life. It took us more than an hour to get into the shower trailers. That was the most annoying part of the weekend, really, just the waiting for the showers the first night. We talked to a crew member who warned us that Day 2 was the hardest, because the excitement from Day 1 was over, soreness had set in, and there was no clear end in sight. We were determined to keep our spirits up as much as possible, but clearly we were all worried. Finally shower, then bed. I had a thin mattress pad from D, and a sleeping bag. It wasn't comfortable, but I was tired, and eventually I drowned out the chatter from the tents surrounding mine and fell asleep.
Day Two passed through rural roads & neighborhoods - and we were forever on the lookout for Coco the pink monkey.
Day Two ACTUALLY started at 5:20 in the morning, when the stupid crew members blasted an air horn or something and used a megaphone to wake us all. I wasn't happy because we'd been told the night before that you could do what you liked in the morning as long as you left by 8. We weren't trying to be on the late side, but we were hoping to catch another half hour of shuteye. I went and had breakfast alone, then went back to tell the girls what was being served and to pack up my tent and dress while they went to eat. We were on the road by 7:15 or so.
We started out in Warminster and went around Blair Mill Road and these back ways I was familiar with from my days at the DCWLP. The areas were starting to become recognizable and it was both helpful and maddening. I knew exactly how to get to where we needed to be (pit stops and lunch), but they would take us the most roundabout way, obviously trying to stack up the mileage. Mindful of the words from the crew member the night before, SarahMc and I began engaging everyone in 20 Questions and the "A my name is Alice" game. It helped. Did you know that three people playing a variation on that last word game can take you through about 10 minutes of walking? That's a half mile right there.
We screwed up again at the pit stops. Some team members were taking way too long to stretch or complain about foot issues, and other team members were getting annoyed because they wanted to maintain our pace. We started out in the first half in the morning, and we wanted to keep it that way. People were starting to get snippy with one another, and everyone was just too tired to care.
After the “invasion of the nerds” at lunch, we passed through the town of Ambler with the beautifully decorated front porches.
Immediately after leaving the first pit stop, I realized that the bandaid I'd used to cover my blister had slipped, and my feet were so sensitive at that point that I called to my team to go on ahead. I plunked myself on a curb, and with the help of another walker's sewing scissors, I properly attended to the blister (which had doubled in size since the day before) with Second Skin and moleskin. Then, I was so determined to catch up to my team that I began power walking and eventually overtook them. I was pretty pleased with myself. My legs were less pleased; they were running on empty and they voiced their displeasure loudly.
After the second pit stop, where it was really apparent that we were all tired and exasperated with one another, we broke off into two groups of two and three. I felt very strange, empty of everything, not thirsty, and my feet were just dead weights. SaraV, Coll and I opted to save our legs for a few miles and rode to lunch in a sweep van, while SarahMc and Kate kept on truckin'.
At the intersection before the lunch stop, everyone in the van begged the sweepers to let us off so we could walk to lunch. And we were so glad we did, because the first person we saw crossing the street was... Marion! I burst into tears seeing her, Kate's dad and Sara and Coll's parents. I can't explain why I was crying; you're just so filled with emotion, I think, that any show of support and love is just too overwhelming for your senses.
Once Sarah and Kate got there, we found a shady spot, and immediately all the walkers began stripping off their shoes and attending to nasty blisters and burns, right in front of our parents. We were talking about sweat, and porta-pottys, and poop, and blisters, and really it was the grossest conversation to the casual observer, but we were all so deadened in that sense that we didn't notice it at all.
I made my way to the medical tent to get my blister checked out, and I waited more than 45 minutes before a medical crew member asked anyone if they wanted to take care of it themselves. She took a quick look at my toe, and gave me a sterile needle, some gauze, and alcohol wipes. I lanced my blister and wrapped it in second skin and moleskin like a pro.
Because we took so long at lunch, we lost our "good position," but I think we didn't care because we were happy to be in Ambler and a place that was familiar to us all. The cheering station in Ambler was right after lunch (and after poor Sarah was so intent in a conversation that she walked smack into a parking meter), and a Rita's water ice surprised us all with free mango and cherry ice. I love Rita's.
We got love beads at Pit 4 and felt the love (during a real wedding) at Pit 5.
I began feeling very strange at Pit 4. I didn't feel like I was cooling down with all the cold water I was drinking, and I didn't want to drink anything more. The entire team was getting so far ahead, and I just didn't feel right and couldn't keep up. We entered a small wooded area with a path right next to the street, and I started feeling like the food I'd eaten at the pit stop was about to come back up. Sara turned around and asked me if I was okay. I couldn't hold it in anymore; I totally broke down and said that I felt like I was going to throw up and I was hot and felt like shit and I was never going to finish and I didn't want to sweep please don't make me sweep Sara I want to finish this walk and I don't want to sweep anymore. I got hysterical, and another walker grabbed my arm and forced me to drink some of her Gatorade. It was pretty weird, and I guess it was scary from an outside standpoint. We found a bench, and Sara made me sit down. Finally a safety guy came biking by (I didn't mention this, but there were safety crew riding mountain bikes up and down the route for situations like this), and while Sara told him I probably needed a sweep van, I continued to cry and plead not to be swept. I felt lightheaded and... well, nauseous isn't the right word. I felt overfull, like everything I'd eaten and drank was going to come up at any second.
The sweep van picked me up, and as we drove around looking for any more sweepers, I realized that our delay at the stops and lunch had made us one of the very last groups of walkers. I felt ashamed. The sweepers asked how I felt, and then told me I was going first to the last pit stop, and then the bus was going to take me to camp. I wanted to cry, but I was so tired and strange-minded that I couldn't. They helped me off the van, and I wanted to protest that I didn't need help walking around from porta-potties to medical to water stations, but I must have looked even worse than I felt, because after I peed, they put me right on a van that was headed to camp.
We passed my team, we passed walkers and walkers, making a stop for one woman who'd fallen and cut her leg so badly that her knee was swelling (but she refused medical attention, determined to finish all 60 miles). I found out then that the sweepers were mostly former walkers who were not impressed with such shows of perserverance; they'd heard too many stories about men and women who were determined to keep going, and ended up in months of therapy and lost toenails and medical issues. Their motto was, "Don't Be Stupid - Sweep!" At that point, I was very grateful.
(I also found out that a group of walkers had gone into an Ambler bar for lunch, and stayed so long that they missed the tail end of the walk. They had the nerve to call the sweepers and ask to be picked up and taken to camp. As one person sniffed, "This is a sweep van, not a taxi service. You have money for lunch, you have money for a cab." They were really upset, and rightly so. I never heard what happened to those walkers. I wondered if they'd gotten expelled from camp or something.)
After 19 miles of walking we finally rolled into Camp 2 at Montgomery County Community College. Amazingly, some still found the energy to dance the night away to the sound of the Philly Horn Band.
I was driven to camp and walked. I felt weird, like I was faking it in a way because I didn't feel THAT bad, but I also still felt a bit like I was going to throw up. I felt very drawn in two directions - hurting, but dishonest. I didn't like how I felt. Sarah's parents had surprised us at base camp, and they got our gear and set up our tents for us. I couldn't talk to her mom when she was hugging me, just mumbled something about the medical tent. I realized that I hadn't peed in a while.
A medical crewperson showed up in a golf cart and drove me to the tents. The doctor was very cool and hip; she took the vitals, I explained about the hot and weird and overfull feeling (while exclaiming that I wasn't NAUSEATED, just OVERFULL - shut up, Coleen), and she had me drink about 5-6 glasses of fluid, half water, half this sweet orange gooey Gatorade. I laid down for a while, and when she came back she said I looked much better, I had color in my cheeks again. I guess maybe I was mildly dehydrated. I still felt guilty about being swept, but then I saw some of the patients with their IVs, and I realized the crew members were right, I was being stupid about my guilt. It wasn't a crime if I didn't walk every single tenth of a mile.
They released me from the tent, and I went to find the tentmates, who were eating with one of the mother members of MAD for Marion (who was a former 7th grade teacher at our grade school). I ate a hearty dinner, still felt a tad overfull but I suspected it was too much chicken, waited a blissful 5 minutes for a shower, and even got a free towel service from one of the crew members. That night, I realized that if I ever do this event again, I would have to pack an air mattress, because man, it was uncomfortable.
Also, I love you Philly Horn Band, but you played too late. You suck.
Day Three started early as we hitchhiked (by bus) to pit stop 1, which happened to be at the base of one of the largest hills of the day. Yikes!
The last day, we ended up driving through Flourtown on our way to Chestnut Hill College, the starting point. Did I mention that CHC is right by my high school, and I drive by it practically every day? We were all very excited, because not only were we in the home stretch, but we knew that no matter the route, we would know exactly where they were taking us the entire time.
And then we realized where they'd dropped us off - at the base of a huge hill. That was pretty hard, but we all managed it, knowing that it was going to be downhill for a long time after that.
After that long climb, we were rewarded with some great window shopping in downtown Chestnut Hill.
Yay! Hometown! Neighborhood that I know every nook and cranny of! We were practically skipping with our dead legs down Germantown Avenue. Especially when we walked past the bakery, and my friend Sharon was out there, handing out cookies to everyone. It's amazing what a mood booster a chocolate dipped shortbread cookie can be.
After an even bigger hill just past pit stop 3, we were rewarded again with cheers from local residents of downtown Manayunk.
They had us walking through Valley Green, and our team joked that it was our training grounds, so we knew exactly where we were. Then all of a sudden, we were walking up Valley Green through to Manayunk, which sucked so badly that if I talk about it here, I'll be blue in the face. Suffice to say that at one point, I was literally trudging along inches at a time.
Once we hit the Pit Stops on the final day, we got smart. We realized that we were in the first third still (by the way, there were 2100 registered walkers, and at that point we were either 360 or 490), and we didn't want to waste time at any stops if we could help it. You're not supposed to think of the 3Day as a race, but subconsciously you want to "beat" the other walkers, and it was a power boost to think that we were "winning."
We started walking down Green Street, and if you've never experienced a 12% downhill grade, go find a flight of steep stairs, and walk down those about a hundred times. Then you'll get the idea. Alli, Aarti, and Kim came out and surprised me halfway down the street, and I was so grateful to see familiar faces again. I didn't want to stop and talk too much, however. We were so, so close, and I was so determined to maintain our position. They walked down and talked to me for about a block, and then I cried the whole way through the Manayunk cheering station.
We were saying the whole weekend, it wasn't the pain that made us cry. Well, it was, but that wasn't what really affected us. We were crying almost as a reflex if our blisters popped or our ankles were sore or our shins were splintered. What really made us cry the most was the outpouring of support from bystanders and cheerleaders during the walk. What got to me that last day wasn't the fact that my feet no longer felt part of my body - it was the lone woman standing in front of a CVS, clapping for hours and saying, "God bless you," to each and every person. It was the husband, dressed in pink and holding up a sign cheering on his wife and her team. It was the deaf woman who followed us around in a yellow VW bug the entire weekend, all day long showing up at random points on our route, hollering "damn good" to everyone and reminding us to drink water, signing "I love you" to everyone. (Her partner is a 9-year survivor, and she refused the many offers to walk into the closing ceremonies with us. She said it wasn't her walk, she was just there for support. God love you, Lisa, wherever you are.)
After some "clowning around" at lunch, we traveled along the peaceful Schuylkill River.
We had a slip-up at the pre-lunch pit stop and took too long, so when we crossed the Falls Bridge and got to the picnic lunch area, some of us were mighty antsy to stay on target. We stuffed our faces, filled our bladders with water and sports drink, and slathered our feet with Vaseline before continuing. (Vaseline - secret weapon of the 3Day. That and Tootsie Rolls. Who knew?)
The last few miles were really the hardest. We were beyond spent at that point, and some of us on the team with less energy than others might have been a little short with our teammates to please slow down the pace (unfortunately, we had to keep as quick a pace as possible because Sarah had a flight to catch back to Chicago). The walk through Fairmount Park was tortuous - we knew EXACTLY where the ceremonies were being held, yet we just Could. Not. Get. There. Lisa the yellow car lady made one last appearance, urging us onward the final half mile and yelling "Damn good, ladies!" as loud as she could (I could only manage to sign "I love you" with my fingers, because no words could have expressed what she meant to me at that point). Finally, we got to Belmont Avenue, turned left, and...
The journey finally ended at the largest park in Philadelphia—Fairmont Park—where you were greeted by your friends, family, and the entire 3-Day community.
I have never seen anything so amazing in my life. Walkers, crew members, and family members were lined up on either side of the path through to the final checkpoint, hollering as loud as they could, hands up for high fives (when not clapping). I could barely see, my eyes were so filled with tears. I spotted our parents heading towards us, and when I saw my dad, I lost it, hugging him and sobbing while he told me it was okay and he was so proud of us.
We walked towards the checkpoint and got more hugs from crew members as they scanned our lanyards, then screamed as we recognized Coll's husband, Kate's fiancee, and our friend Jen in the t-shirt tent. Coll collapsed against Todd and couldn't move for a few seconds, she was so overcome. We received our t-shirts and walked through the tent to find our parents and a scene of utter, but most welcome, lovable chaos. Walkers reuniting. Champagne flowing. Bouquets of flowers. More crying. Neon green shirts (those who signed up for next year) mixed with pink survivor shirts and navy walker shirts. Our mom MAD for Marion team member walking around in her neon green shirt for next year. Coll's dad, recovering from a broken pelvis, limping over to our group, cane in one hand, neon green shirt in the other. He's ready for next year already.
D showed up, finally (he'd been in a different part of the park), and I just hugged him for a bit and started crying again. He walked me to my gear on the other side of the site, because all I wanted to do was to get my flip flops on. He took off my shoes for me and whistled, "Damn, have you seen your feet?" I looked down, and all I could see was swollen sausages for toes and a patch of moleskin. (My feet were swollen for three days, easy.) I leaned on him once we got back to the meet n' greet area, and I just started crying, silently but forcefully. D, though I love him, is not one for displays of tender emotion, and he was clearly uncomfortable. Thank goodness for my mother, who came over, handed me a tissue, and rubbed my shoulder as she apologized for giving me her emotional genes instead of my father's. Heh.
Finally, they began Closing Ceremonies, and it was just so great to be finished that I didn't mind walking through another gauntlet of love, as crew members knelt by the side of the road and clapped, and our families stood behind them and cheered. We took off one shoe and held it up as the survivors walked into the "winner's circle," and I was just overcome with love. People released some balloons, and it was a beautiful image to see a giant pink mylar breast cancer ribbon floating up to heaven. I felt like we were letting the city of Philadelphia know that we were here, and we were here to stay. Either breast cancer goes, or we do.
Even now, I am struck by how powerful an experience it was. We raised $6 million for breast cancer. There were women who were still in the middle of chemo who walked. Fathers, mothers, daughters, lovers, friends, strangers - we all walked 60 miles and raised thousands of dollars so that the next generation won't have to experience this awful disease. Already I am plotting out when I can start walking again - for I am doing it again next year - and thinking up new strategies for fundraising. I am determined to get myself in better shape for next year. The physical pain might be gone, but I don't ever want to forget how hard an experience it was with basically no training whatsoever. If I don't prepare, then I cannot complain. The gym visits start up again tomorrow, and before it gets freezing cold out, I would like to start walking again just to keep myself in step for the next time.
I want to do it again next year (October 6-8 are the dates already), I want to know by January if I am participating, and I want to remind myself that walking a few miles a day is nothing compared to walking 60 in a weekend. I would walk 6,000 if it meant that every step brought me closer to eradicating breast cancer once and for all.
We'll continue the fight.
(please do not take these photos, they're not mine, but I wanted to share)
Days Away.
A week from tonight, I will be getting ready for the final night before the hardest physical event I've ever had to do in my life: The Breast Cancer 3Day.
To say that I am underprepared for this event is a woeful understatement. I did not train nearly enough. I did not push myself as hard as I should have, could have, etc. I did not walk everywhere, did not take opportunities, did not look far enough into the future to realize that someday I would be a week away from the event and it would have been better to be more prepared than I am.
Shoes are bought, socks are on the way, outfits are here. That's about it. I have a tentmate, but we haven't talked as a team to figure out how we are even getting there. I have no Body Glide, no blue foot powder, no first-aid kit, no sunblock, no fanny pack with water bottle holster, no awesome pink boas or bandannas or wigs. I imagine that in the next nine days, I will do what I have to in order to obtain those things. And in the meantime, I will walk. This weekend, for example, I had planned a romantic trip down the shore with D. It will be very romantic indeed, if you include at least a 10-mile walk each day under romance.
I shouldn't be scared. The t-shirt says it all - "Blisters will heal. Scars will fade. But the fight continues, and so will I." I will walk as far as I can, remembering my three Rs at every pit stop (Rehydrate, Refuel, Relieve myself), and to stretch more frequently and efficiently. I will not beat myself up because I didn't do six weekends in a row of 18+ mile walks. I will remember that the walk is broken up into shorter, more manageable lengths, and every time I get discouraged, tell myself that surely I am almost at the pit stop, surely I can make it there, surely I can get myself to the next pit stop, the next cheering station, the next camp site. We are walking through my stomping grounds, the places where I work, where I hang out, where I grew up. It will seem at first a relief in familiarity, to know exactly how many miles it will take me to get from Langhorne to Richboro to Ambler to Manayunk to Wynnewood. I won't kid myself, though. It's going to be hard, and I'm going to curse my lack of preparation. But it doesn't mean I will give up. I will do this.
I wrote everyone I know earlier this week, telling them the locations where family and friends are permitted to come with signs and yells and whoops and hugs, and I hope that someone, anyone will be able to make it. I know that Marion wants to be there at the closing ceremonies. Marion, the namesake of our team, the woman I have been thinking of these past few months as I raised money, energized my team, conveniently forgot to walk. (*cough*) She will be proud of us no matter how far we get.
And so, starting tomorrow is the countdown. The 3Day might physically begin on September 25, but mentally, I'm already there.
Bananas, by Hannah
I am currently eating banana pudding after having lunch at a country kitchen where I had the "vegetable" plate. (Where the only vegetables were in my broccoli and rice casserole.)
Just thought I'd let y'all know, in case you were wondering how I'm doing.
Cruisin'
You'd think I would have posted this before. D and I and his parents are going on a 7-night cruise to Alaska (Juneau-Skagway-Ketchikan), and we leave, uh, tomorrow. I'm concerned about two things: fitness and nutrition. So my game plan is to drink a big thing of water before I eat anything, to have at least a serving or two of raw fruit and veggies before I eat any of my meals, and to walk on the 2-3 days we are at sea. I don't expect to lose any weight (208.5 last weigh in), but I would like it if I didn't pop any buttons at the Midnight chocolate buffet or something like that.
Have a good Labor Day everyone!
Updating
I feel like I have a ton to say and nothing to report. Ever have moments like that? It's like you're stuck between the rock and hard place, logorrhea versus whatever you would call word constipation. (Wordstipation?)
Diet
Not so great, still. Thanks to a less-than-stellar demonstration of willpower during my shore vacation, I got up to 214.5 last week. I had a total meltdown in front of poor D, who assured me that he was with me for better or worse, for ugly or pretty, for fat or skinny. He liked me just the way I am, etc. It was a sweet moment, and to have someone in my life who believes that I am pretty hot no matter how I look or how I am feeling at the time can help.
But still, it was time to hop back on that tuna can, grilled chicken, and raw veggie train. I have been very diligent all week (last night's special dinner out and the little bag of Cheezits I just had notwithstanding), and I am starting to feel good again about taking charge of what I put into my body. The Produce Junction people were relieved to see me - I think they were missing that $20 a week I was throwing down on salad bags and Jersey tomatoes and plums.
Exercise
Much better, now that I have my Official 3Day Sneakers. In case you cannot link, they're Brooks Ariels, Super Stability Shoes. My parents sprung for one pair, and D surprised me with the other.
I did a four-mile walk last Thursday which was a little disappointing only because I thought I'd walked longer. And then Tuesday I did six miles after work, strolling down the Forbidden Drive to Valley Green. (Aren't Philly place names pretty?)
Y'all. Six miles walking is LONG. Two hours! I had no idea. Still, I am pretty pleased with that; it is the recommended slowest pace the 3Day coaches recommended, and while I get used to my shoes I can do that pace pretty well without a lot of knee pain.
I also scored a pedometer and a camel pack from my father, who brought them home as part of a swag swap at a conference he recently attended. The pedometer is about one to two tenths of a mile faster than the actual distance, which is fine, and I realized that the water coming out of the camel pack probably tastes better if I wash it thoroughly and let it dry first. I think I might get some of the powdered sports drink mixes and use the camel pack to make my own Gatorade; apparently the sponsored drink this year is gross.
Also, I am walking another six miles today, and I am determined to do the Kelly Drive Loop this weekend, or do 7-8 miles somewhere. Both Saturday and Sunday, even (that is, if I'm not too hungover from a big party I'm going to Saturday nigh, to be perfectly honest).
So I just wanted to let y'all know where I'm at. I am fixing my eyes on that final weigh-in on the 21st, and whether I win or lose, I want the record to show that I lost something. To do that, I am eating right, I am walking, and I am being conscious of the fact that it takes work. I think it's something that I let myself lose along the way, instead of the weight I was supposed to lose instead.
Other Stuff
I forgot to mention this bit. For those of you not knowing, I shut down my other website, Hussified. Thank you for reading that, and thanks for support Hannah and myself here at Weight Challenged!
