My Anaconda Don't...

30 to 51. It's not betting odds, a temperature range or a bad Superbowl score. It's the name of the new purpose in my life.

Today I went to the beach. Okay, it was Warren Lake, but it does have sand, and water, and driftwood, and today it had sunshine and 70 degree temperatures. But it was a wake-up call.

Faced with today's 70 and sunny reality of my fat pants being tight, and having a hard time finding a pair of shorts to wear that didn't chafe or fit too close to my approaching-Kim-Kardashian-proportioned buns, hon...

I decided it is time to get with the program. Vitamin D deficiency, less-than-stellar mood, sore back, inability to run, raging hormones, and blinding white legs be damned, I have 30 days until my 51st birthday and I know I can lose a chunk of this blubber by then, at least get to where I can fit into most of my clothes again. I think I just came up with a new hashtag: #runthepaws

I woke up this morning with a sore back again. I was doing better, got up to a total of 40 minutes of running in my walks. I've been walking between 6 and 8 miles a day, and every other day I've been running parts of the walk. I think it's something to do with the position I sleep in, if I wake up on my stomach that kills my back.

I took Thursday off, then I walked 5 miles Friday, without running. My back was fine. Then this morning, it was as painful as it was the first day this happened. I woke up face down. I don't know if there's anything else I could have done to prevent it from being this sore. Friday afternoon I went out with a friend for a beer so we could have some girl time and dinosaur talk. Dinosaur talk is when we talk about healthcare stuff. You know, the dinosaurs who run things in health care.

I have been indulging in the beer more often than I should, and eating things I shouldn't, like bread. Actually bread probably has been my biggest downfall lately. But it also leads to slacking on other carbs. When I don't feel like making breakfast, I've been eating PBJs. Bad, bad, bad. It would be one thing if I were running a gazillion miles, but I'm not.

I'm back on the floor with the ice pack again. I'll have to give up the beer, quit slacking on watching the carb intake, and do SOMETHING until my back feels strong enough to handle regular running.

Now that I'm committed, I need to think about where I'm headed, at least a climb of Mt. Whitney and a few miles of a little jaunt across the desert this summer...