The Drunk Runner

Well, here I am.  Back at where I started with my fitness and weight loss goals.  I'm rather disappointed in myself.  Especially when I see the rest of my support group's continuing success.   Back in June, I hit my weight loss goal!  I was eating clean, exercising, and was generally happy.  I felt good and I knew I looked good which, in turn, made me feel even better.  I had finally lost 'the last 10 pounds' and was working on muscle tone, strength and endurance. And then it all went to shit.... Camping season started and as much as I was determined to maintain my weight and continue with exercise, all it took was one Chelada and a hot dog and my ass was parked on the beach for 2 months.  I lost my muscle tone, gained back the weight, and felt heavy and gross.  I wanted to drink beer with my friends around a campfire.  I wanted to go on drunken walks down the beach.  I wanted to float on our massive party island with a jug of margaritas by my side.  Ahhh....summe

This is favorite quote.  It is so true. My husband and I have been married for 10 years this summer. I think back on my life and try to reminisce on our early years and I can honestly tell you that I don't remember them.  No, not because I was totally shit faced and wasn't on Facebook yet to look back on drunken statuses and bar pictures, but because none of it was memorable.  I didn't live my life for me. We didn't  live our life for us. I lived it the way I felt society told me I should.  I had "mom friends".  I did "mom things".  I stressed about a clean house and what my neighbors thought of our yard.  I fought with my husband because he didn't wash the car when I thought it needed it, and because his garage didn't look organized when the door was open.  We fought.  We yelled.  We swore at each other and often threatened to leave one another.  We were the definition of unhappy.  What kind of life was that?  Where were the memor

There is a tomcat stalking our house that is trying to violate our kitten, Penelope.  Penelope is a small kitty, 7 months old and fragile.  She does not need to stalked by Norman The Pedophile.  Go away Norman, you're not welcome here. Ahh, but pedophile cats are persistent little assholes.  Lurking around your yard, hiding under your deck, looking into your kitchen window.  All to get a glimpse of poor, little, fragile, Penelope. I hadn't actually seen Norman until today.  Today Norman was brave enough to face Penelope's mother (ME).  He was actually pretty cute.  I can see why Penelope is falling for him. I suggested to my husband that we, perhaps, adopt Norman The Pedophile.   Me: Norman is pretty cute, actually. Husband: Who the fuck is Norman?  Me: The Pedophile Cat Husband:  I don't understand what's wrong with you. Me:  We should keep him. Husband:  We are NOT having another cat.   Me: I'm probably going to kee

Boo!  I'm back.   I've been a little MIA.  My stupid depression hit crazy hard this summer and it took me quite a while to get it under control.  I'm finally getting my shit together after figuring out a few things that I need to do to simplify some of the things in my life.  Things are going much better now!  I have a few appointments coming up to help determine what I can do to get this under control more long term.  Oh....the battle.... So, one of the things that I decided to do make life simpler was to only focus on this one blog: The Drunk Runner.  I really don't have the time or desire anymore to have 4 different blogs running with 4 different topics, so now you're going to get them all here!  Yay for you!  Most of my content on my other "blogs" is rather pointless and contains a lot of venting, but some of them are rather funny.  While going through them, I came across this and thought I would share it with you.  I had started a blog to ra