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Just a little bit of guns & dresses

Wednesday, December 13, 2017

The Freaking Half Marathon from Hell

Last Saturday I did the Kiawah Half Marathon. It was amazing. It was hellacious. I'd like to say I ran it. I did not. I started out walking. Not sure what you would call how I ended it. All I know is that I felt like I had just survived a combination of Naked and afraid, The biggest Loser and being left in the movie WILD for days upon days with no food or water fending for my life. I know this sounds dramatic. BUT THIS SHIZ IS REAL. All you runner people- INSANITY. I will give you a play by play. I woke up Saturday with intentions to stay in bed if it was raining. I woke up at 4:27 am and it was raining. My dumb self decided to get out of bed and head to my friends house that was attempting this with me. We got to Kiawah unreasonably early to I sat in the car and let my anxiety climax to its upper levels. Finally at 6:25am I decided we should heard with the other cattle to the buses that were delivering us to our destiny. We made it to packet pick up and about 1 million other people were there doing their race warm ups and stretching. Once in this building I realized I was unlike the others... I saw lots of lu lu and running shorts. Racing hats and belts. Fancy shoes, goo and whatever that tape stretchy stuff is people put on their legs. Maybe I should have eaten breakfast. Maybe I should have stretched. MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE FREAKING TRAINED. Alas destiny awaited. We made our way to the starting line. It was a lovely 42 degrees. Awesome. Once again, I was feeling a little(lot) out of place with all of these fit professionals. Crud. Is it too late to bag this? Then the race started. I'm not sure what I thought would happen, but I definitely thought it was going to be a little different. I started out fairly well. Mile 1 was my best... I should've known things were headed south when the bike paramedic suggested I try to keep a quicker pace.. Thanks. Obvi I am not Usain Bolt. All was well the first mile in. After the first drink station I kind of realized it seemed a little quiet. I looked behind me. NO ONE. NOT ONE SOUL. Ok Sarah its ok. You need some alone time anyways.. Everyone behind you is resting or took a wrong turn. Several times throughout the race I actually did think I took a wrong turn because there was NOBODY. No fear. I let a few minutes pass before I looked behind again. Next thing I knew I felt like something was behind me. I turned around and there was the police Tahoe with its blue lights flashing. Well that's nice that they are keeping us safe. After a few minutes I realized that the police man was the end of the race. I was last. DEAD last. like no other soul around. He was like 2 feet behind me just inching along. Well that's funny. Next time I looked- about 15 cars were creeping along behind him(one was even honking). These poor people just wanting to get home, but Sarah Usain Bolt was not moving quickly apparently. This was just the beginning for me. At mile 5 I wandered a little bit to the middle of my lane and my noise cancelling beats drowned out the sound of the quickly approaching bus. Yes- a bus. I literally barely missed getting my ass hit by a freaking bus during the marathon. But, lucky for me there were no actual humans on the premises to witness this or come to my aid had the said bus side swiped me. Another highlight was that by the time I got to certain landmarks all of the spectators had moved on so all I saw were cups and posters strewn upon the ground. Lets go Sarah.. I have to say that miles 1-6 weren't so bad. 7 was like when you accidently walk behind the car and hit your shin on the trailer hitch. You cuss and it sucks, but you walk it off. Mile 8 was the start of my demise. At mile 8 my phone started getting texts one after the other. I began to realize that everyone I knew that was doing the race had finished. FREAKING FINISHED. I still had 5 flipping miles. OMG how was this possible. I started toying with the idea of calling an Uber. Or just sitting down. My legs were killing. My feet were wanting to fall off. I couldn't make eye contact with any water station people because I was scared I would just burst out crying. At mile 9 I used a lifeline and I phoned a friend. By the grace of God Anne had come to watch me finish and drive me home because I knew I would want to die. She talked me through mile 9 and probably off a ledge. By mile 10 I was praying that God would just zap me off of this course and this dreaded island. There was no way I was going to make it 3 more miles. My pace had more than doubled and I was literally just putting 1 foot in front of the other. At this point I had caught the full marathon runners. Just kidding. They had lapped me several times. We had bonded. Especially since they had passed me so many times. Crazy people running 26 miles. No thank you. By mile 11 I thought I was on the verge of death. I am sure I looked like a horrible and slow hot mess express every time I meandered to a water station. Miles 11 and 12 were the longest miles of my life. I stopped at one point and just took my shoes off. I almost didn't have the energy to put them back on. When we were on the golf course sidewalk I just about walked straight across the green. AGONY. By the time I was finishing mile 12 people were telling me how close I was. Well, that did not help me so much... I must have asked every single soul I passed if this *&^%*&^% race was almost over. I'm sure I terrified people, but I was a hot mess. When I saw Mile 13 I thought my legs were going to break off. I had already lost my mind. Why not some body parts? Finally after what felt like days I heard the spectators at the finish line. I had imagined that this moment would be glorious. I would feel inspired. I would increase my pace and lengthen my stride. Start running. Cross that finish line at a jog with the crowd cheering. Not so much. I slowly made it down to the finish feeling every step. Every part I forgot to put Body Glide. Barely looking up accept to see my friends at the finish. Was scared to actually make I contact for fear of mental breakdown. I told myself to run, but that did not happen... Finished. All in all I am glad I did it. But I am pretty sure I got last place (fact and proud of it..) And I am pretty sure I am not doing that again... Peace out my friends. Thanks for the support 0.0 I don't run

Monday, July 24, 2017

Worst 19 minutes of my life

It was Friday night. At Cinnebare. I was awaiting to see Dunkirk. With a stroke of bad luck, I made it to the 7 pm movie well ahead of everyone else. Which means I had the horrible task of saving 6 seats. Kill me now. I was going with the Wagners which usually means Tobey is there well ahead of time. Well, I wasn't so lucky Friday night. So I got in there and things were pretty good. Most of the upper seating was taken so I claimed 6 seats on the first flat row. Was feeling pretty good about my selection. I thought I was safe. All of a sudden around 6:40, civilians started pouring in. One after another. At first some were nice while asking if I had ALL of those seats. (I mean 6 is not that many. You would have thought I had 23 seats saved). As the minutes inched along, I began to feel some tension in the air. Clouds of hostility floating my way. I trid not to make eye contact. I really wanted to lift up the arm rests and just lay across all of the seats. At least 10 people tried to sit in my seats. I was proactive by getting there early. Why did I feel like Cruella De Ville? Like I was shunning the public. Like I was the worst person in the world. My anxiety was majorly on the rise. At 6:49 a British lady came at me. Told me I was ridiculous (in her ridiculous accent) to save seats. I almost backed down, but I had a duty to do so I told her to push on (maybe not in those words). So many people just made a dash for it and sat down, ergo I had to tell them to roll out. Worst feeling ever. I was staring at the walk way praying one of my people would walk in. I felt like everyone was watching me to see if I actually had people coming. The theatre was filling up and I felt like my seats were sitting ducks ready to be taken. Just as I was about to sweat through my shirt, in they come. Praise the Lord! I think it took a solid 30 minutes and chicken fingers to bring my anxiety back to its resting level. If you want to feel terrible about yourself, just go to a Friday night movie and save seats. You're welcome.

Tuesday, July 18, 2017

My Boys

This post is a long time coming. Most of you know that I have been lucky enough to do Young Life since 2003. It's been a long time. YL has taken me many, many places, but one of my favorite and most unexpected places has been Porter Gaud. I know, I even surprise myself sometimes. Last place I ever imagined this Wando Warrior was chasing a pack of boys at PG. Well, every now and again a blind squirrel finds a nut. In my case, I was lucky enough to find several nuts. It makes me cry just thinking about my nuts. Ok, bad wording there.
(Here are some of the nuts) Somehow, in 2012 I met a pack of some of my most favorite people. Porter Gaud freshmen boys. Yes. You read that right. I made friends with my best friend, which led me to becoming friends with her son. And then his friends. I've been around high schoolers enough to decipher who is the real deal or not. These boys are the real deal. I never thought I'd be 31, single, and have a pack of recently graduated boys. THANK GOD I DO. They have brought me some of my most favorite memories. We have had many crappy meals at Andos, hundreds of car rides, hilarious and crazy conversations in the Jones living room and very competitive Xbox games which could have led to severed friendships... haha. Heck, some of them even let me take them on a trip and accompany them on a cruise... I also got lucky enough to meet them for breakfast the first day of school all of high school. Here are some pics
It's hard to explain, but I feel like they are my brothers. I am sensitive, therefore, I have been dreading graduation since freshmen year (ask Anne.. ). Most of the moms thought I was crazy, but alas, they will be sad too come August. Since 9th grade, I knew that they would leave us. Granted- they should. Things would be much worse if they graduated and had no where to go.. But, I have been dreading graduation for a few reasons. The obvious one is that they are leaving me. Geographically speaking. That means no more Andos or Chick Fil A. No more crashing the Jones house to find 10 cars horribly parked outside and hearing them scream at each other over College football or Rocket League. Sadly, the times are changing. Don't get me wrong, I am glad they are all getting to go where they want to. I'm just sad I won't be with them:( Also, it means they are getting older. I don't like change so this one is hard for me. I loved the days when they were dorks and couldn't drive. They needed our help and in exchange we got to hear all of their ridiculous conversations. Now, they mostly drive cooler cars than me and come home when I'm well into my REM sleep cycle. I'm sad I won't be with them on move in day, or to rag them as they walk to class. To sum it up, I am sad. But, I am Proud. Proud of the boys/mini men they are becoming. Proud of the friends they are to each other and the friends they are to me. Boys- I'll miss you. You better not forget me and still answer my calls. No college is too far for a first day of school breakfast:) or a beat down when you need it. I am also thankful to have gotten to spend so much time with these guys. Love you long time.

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

Crazy Train

That moment. When you know you have just hopped aboard the hot mess express. Actually more like the crazy train. I was full speed ahead on the crazy train yesterday. I do not know when I hopped aboard, but at some point I was driving that thing like a beast. I usually stay pretty steady, but I'll be honest, all the forces were working against me. I had to wake up at 5 for the gym (more on that next post), I'm eating healthy so therefore, I am HANGRY all the time and I took every tiny thing personally yesterday. Plus, I set off a silent alarm in a clients house at work, slammed my finger in the door and dropped my phone on a driveway. A while back, our bible study read the Bait of Satan and I kind of prided myself on usually not get offended. Well the tide has turned. Pride has been swallowed. I ended up taking the bait, hook, line and sinker. I even cried in Michaels. Ps- I HATE MICHAELS. Seriously. That joint gives me so much anxiety. And smells like fake cinnamon. Any who, the moral of my terrible day was that I took the bait and what I saw was ugly. My reactions, thoughts and feelings were pretty ugly. Plus, I couldn't fix myself. That is where the problem is. Instead of me trying to make myself better or not take things personally, I should've asked for help. Not driven around with road rage calling every single name on my favorites list. Thankfully no one answered.. (except you Stephen-Thank you)They would have probably had some form of PTSD. I should have stopped and asked for help. For clear thoughts. I should have even prayed one tee tiny little munchkin prayer. Nope. That would be way to easy. Instead I let it all stack on top of each other and then have an awesome melt down.. I realized that I do not always think clearly. Or positively. I also realized I actively try to protect my feelings from being hurt a lot. I also sometimes let totally DUMB things hurt my feelings. So today I woke up, went to the gym and then gave myself a pep talk. I need to be okay with myself the way I am. Good feelings or bad. I need to practice not getting worked up or going after the bait on first cast. I need to rely on God to work it out with me instead of me working it out with myself. I'm sure I will be back on the train one day soon, but today I am on the other side. Peace. PS- sorry for the absence. Might be back soon:)

Monday, February 22, 2016

Skinny Bitch: The Holy Hundred

So this post has been a LONG time coming and its long so hunker down or hit the x. I've been waiting 1.5 years to be exact. Last Thursday I had an incredibly awesome and spectacular moment as well as a complete breakdown. Here is a little background on the situation. You have read some prior posts about me doing HCC or as I like to call it "Fat Camp." (Hold your negative comments, we are all good). In my opinion, it is like voluntary imprisonment, but it is also the best thing that I have ever done. That actually sounds like having kids according to some friends.. I've been on this health/sweat/eat clean journey a while and a few weeks ago I hit my 80 lb loss mark. Ok, cool I thought. Then I got to 90. The I realized, "HOLY CRAP. I COULD ACTUALLY GET TO 100." This was such a foreign thought to me for so long. When I first started I was honest to God just lucky enough to get my ass to the freaking gym and walk. I hated it. I wanted to puke just getting on the Crosstown. I could not even utter the word "weight." Then I used to fear the exercise ball. I thought there was 100% chance of popping that shiz.. Month after month, fears dwindled and new ones sprouted, but by the help of good friends I still got there. Weeks turned into months and oddly enough, we are into years. When I first started I couldn't run. Mostly because I was embarrassed that I would look like one of the Chick fil A Cows shuffling around in a circle or my legs would break off. We have come a long way. When I first started I don't think I said one word there and if I did speak, it was not positive. I was definitely not on the prowl for new friends. Especially gym friends. The worst. Boy was I an idiot. Now, some of the toughest people I know I see at the gym almost everyday. Last week was the week. I was on track to reach my 100lb loss goal. I kind of turned into a raging psychopath. But, really. I was obsessed. If I did not get it who knows what would happen. It was all I could think about. I didn't even want to eat. I went to the gym way too many times and was the exact image of gym people that I want to punch in the throat. Some of you knew this and probably wanted to punch me in the throat last week. I was a complete maniac and on the brink of a meltdown. Enter said meltdown. Thursday is weigh in day. Go time. Its horrible and I hate it, but its what you have to do. And no its not public and you don't have to be naked or anything. But I still hate it. I got to the gym to do a last minute workout before weigh in. Things were going well. I was exhausted, hungry and tired. Probably not the most ideal situation. Things were going well. I was working out hard. I decided to get super introspective and carry 2 50lb dumbbells around the track. It seemed like a therapeutic idea at first. And then I started walking. I made it a quarter of the way around and had to just drop them. Crap those were heavy. I picked them back up and went another 10 yards. I made it about halfway and realized I was crying. It was HORRIBLE. I felt like I was going to die on the spot. Right then and there. WORST IDEA EVER. How was I going to finish.. You can't really exit easily and I knew deep down I'd be pissed if I quit. So I went another 10 yards and dropped them. My knees, hands, arms, hips and shoulders were screaming. I was wrecked. How the HELL did I carry this around every day for so long. There's no way. I don't know how something bad hadn't happened to me. Carrying those things really put it into perspective and I HATED every minute of it. I finally saw the end in sight and basically willed my body there and just dropped that junk right on the ground. I drug myself around the track crying and cussing. Praying no one came to say hey or ask me if I was going to hit the 100lb that night. Their life would have been in danger. I finally calmed down after walking 3 laps slower than I have ever walked. I mean, I felt like I got hit by a Mac truck. I made my way down to the weigh in. Do or die. I got on the scale and hit the 100 exactly. PTL. I felt such a relief. I have been really torn about this because on one hand I understand how cool and amazing losing 100lbs is. It was a ton of work and life change. It has not been easy in the least. However, I didn't know this was a possibility. At all. I had gotten to a place of no hope. I had super negative thinking and figured I'd probably just die in my sleep one day. It wasn't good. I had to ride around in my best friends car for hours before I could even say the word weight. (PS-she is a saint) I finally admitted that this whole deal was killing me ( I remember this like it was yesterday). Literally killing me and I hadn't told anyone any of this before. Mentally, physically and spiritually killing me. Luckily, we moved forward from there and got the ball rolling. So to have come from that is one of the coolest blessings and accomplishments ever. On the other hand, I was pretty upset that I had (and still have) all of that to lose. Its a hard thing to think about. And I most certainly do not enjoy talking about it. But, this is what keeps me going. I have a new goal. I have expectations and goals that I am going to meet. It will take time, but I am going to get there. Here is where I need to say thank you. Anne, I literally could and would not have set foot in that place if it weren't for you. Thank you for driving me around MTP and Sullys for hours upon hours just listening to me be a freak. Talk about a hot mess express. ALL ABOARD... But in all seriousness, thank you isn't close to being enough. Thanks for being my gym friend:) Mom and Dad and Lili, thanks for drinking the koolaid a long time ago and being supportive. Could not have done it without yall either. To my new gym friends and team Lucey family- you know who you are. Sorry if I came across as a biatch. I actually was one, but I promise I'm much better outside of that place. I do think I've softened a hair. Thanks for always pushing me and encouraging me no matter what. I see you more than most and I'm glad we are in this together. Another thank you to a big jewel that got me to start meeting her at 530 am when I first started and kicked my rear into gear:)I think the craziest thing I've learned in all of this is that you actually don't even have to believe something is possible for it to happen. I had zero hope when this started. You just have to have a friend willing to sign up for HCC, knowing that you will have FOMO and therefore, you will then sign up too. Sorry for the long sappy post, Until next time, Skinnybitch wannabe

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

Fat Camp: Fall Review

Its been quite a while since my last post but much has happened over the last few months and finding time and actual energy seemed like the last thing I wanted to do. (Sorry Stephen). I signed up to do another round of HCC (fat camp) this fall and it was all I could do to stay alive. So here I am. I've come out on the other side.. In the midst of dragging myself around the track everyday, I also bought my first house. So I haven't just been lying on the couch eating bon bons. Although, that sounds pretty heavenly right about now. Lets start with fat camp. You have to give yourself over to HCC 100%. There's no half assing it which, sadly is what I excel at. Plus, my team this fall was not passive.. We met most everyday and got pummelled. We were not super tight at first, but after our come to Janis meeting we began to get into the groove. I gave up the fitbit. Florence the fitbit started pissing me off. My fears of breaking the exercise ball have now subsided. I tried spinning a few more times in hopes of liking it- NOPE. STILL ABSOLUTELY HATE IT. But, alas, I will keep going. I think big butted people are at a spinning disadvantage. The 10 weeks dragged on and finally we came to the home stretch. Turns out our team won:) which means we got some prizes and a pretty awesome dinner at the Wickliffe House. Good news is I'm down to about 15lbs from my goal of 100 so no slacking now.... On to the house. The house really was kind of a stroke of luck. I was with my friend Anne and we were helping our friend during her last round of chemo. Me (the one trying not to make eye contact with other patients) was browsing the MLS and happened upon the cutest little brick ranch about 2 streets away from my office. I knew that it wouldn't last long because the West Ashley market is on fire. I casually asked Lynn how she was feeling. She seemed to be in good spirits... so I quietly asked if they didn't mind making a pit stop on the way home from chemo... Bad timing I know.. Well, they said yes and on we went! I think we all three knew it was a keeper once we pulled up. It was the cutest little house. Herb came over too and gave it a look with the ladies and I could tell he liked it. So I took a chance and wrote a contract that night and PTL it was accepted! Next thing I knew I was in a crazy cluster of information overload and was signing my life away... And here we are. A real live homeowner. Plus one of my favorite people moved in too:) I have posted a few pics on instagram if you want to check it out. The last bit of news is that I have officially come out of Young Life retirement and get to lead at Ashley Hall which meets with Porter Gaud. Man have we come full circle. I can't say that I saw that coming. Which is kind of cool. I get to hang out with some of the coolest kids:) I'll write more tomorrow. Sarah

Thursday, July 9, 2015

Fat Camp: The Skinny Bitch

Hello people. Sorry for my very long absence (Stephen reminds me daily). I have been occupied. I am not like the normal people. I can't work, be social, keep dragging my ass to the gym and try to eat healthy at the same time and blog. Nope. It literally takes all of me to keep going to the gym more and going to Taco Hell less. (Tears)  But, alas, sorry for the absence. As you know, I have been routinely getting my ass kicked at the gym this past year. And I've also stopped eating. Jk. But it feels like it. I've been grieving the loss of my old lunching life. Sad day my friends. Even though it has COMPLETELY sucked, we have had some good results. I routinely complain/cry/bitch/moan to my dear friend about this. All of the time. She is like my fat camp AA sponsor. I think she secretly enjoys it though, so sorry I'm not sorry. She came up with this theory. The skinny bitch. It has been defined by its creator as: the focus and energy it takes to look good and be thin clearly makes people a little stressed and severe. I think they are plain HUNGRY. Let me explain. Most really skinny/fit people we know are at times bitches. You have to be. To keep up the bod, the healthy eating, the dream weaving- you have to. The more cray cray I become, the bitchier I tend to be. We also joke that my end goal is to become a skinny bitch. The person who goes out to dinner and gets a side salad. Keep in mind, if this ever happens to me then hell has probably frozen over. No joke. Actually that probably will never happen. Basic end goal- Walk through Costco without sampling every damned free sample that is edible. Or not sampling fried chicken off the Whole Foods hot bar while no one is watching. Let's be real- someone saw that. Not cool. But, it doesn't matter. Its done for the goal of skinny bitch. You must convince yourself that you'd rather look good. You turn into a biatch, but you are a skinny, starving, deprived biatch. But, you look good. So there you have it. I have been trapping myself in my office and the gym, eating rice cakes and chia seeds. Just kidding... I'm not cured. I say all of this in fun (don't be offended if you are a skinny biatch-its a term of endearment. I hope to join your ranks one day..). Until next time, Keep Eating (I'm with you in spirit), The not so Skinny Bitch