Smoking

The inspiration for this post comes from Momma Ivie over at mommaivie.blogspot.com.  This bitch is a mom, and a recent post got me thinking...can you have your cake and eat it too?

The simple answer, yes.  HOWEVER, be prepared for an uphill battle.  Myself?  I'm a social smoker.  I'm the douchecanoe you'll see at a party smoking something hip like a clove or a cheap cigar.  The day after I smoke, I find it hard to breathe after a simple mile of half-assed jogging.  I have no clever story to go with this, I just can't breathe.

But, maybe it's different for you who smoke regularly.  Is it easier to get past the shortness of breath?  Tell me! I'm dying to know!

SCHEDULE FOR THIS WEEK!
Monday: Happy Labor Day - you working stiffs enjoy your day off!
Tuesday - 3 miles, get ready to gear up!
Wednesday - 4 miles
Thursday - 3 miles
Friday - A reminder today is a day off.

NEW ADDITION!  HALF-MARATHON TRAINING SCHEDULE & SHORTENED MARATHON TRAINING SCHEDULE!
HALF-MARATHON:
Monday - You're resting like the rest of us.  Heh, homonym...
Tuesday - Walk 20 minutes
Wednesday - Walk 30 minutes
Thursday - Walk 20 minutes
Friday - Rest!

MARATHON SHORTENED TRAINING:  (maybe you weren't ready, but are now!)
Same as the half marathon above!

Remember, above all else, have fun.  Get retarded about running!

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That fucking kid...

Got a rugrat?  Me too, pain in my fucking ass.  I bought a fucking running stroller so I can take the little anklebiter with me on runs.  What does this fucking get me?  Well, on a longer run, I actually have to stop whilst dripping sweat from greasy wop forehead to wipe my daughter's ass.

Fuck this!

Can't do shit about it, but suck it up and push through.  I guess it's better than dragging a Christing Radio Flyer behind me.  But, shit, you'd know I was coming.  Rattlerattlerattle...

Point is, that stupid thing provides some resistance.  Plus, she's a fat little sausage, so schlepping 30 extra pounds on top of the 20 pound stroller gets my heart pumping fine.  Any fatter and I'd be kicking her around like a bunch 6-year olds playing soccer.  Once you don't have to push the tubby fuck-trophy on race-day you'll be flying so goddamned fast.

Who's got kids?  How do you cope?  Sound off, vaginafaggots!

EDIT: So you're all aware, I love my daughter with every bit of my soul.  Best.  Fuck-trophy.  Ever.