If you're seeing this post, it means I haven't had time to write in a day or so. Please enjoy until I find a much needed WiFi fix...
A huge part of my running and work out schedule is the music I listen to. I will spend literally hours making new play lists when my current one gets stale. It's something that was passed down from my mother after watching her work on aerobics tapes, and I've definitely got to thank her for that some day.
But enough of the chit-chat. Here are 25 of my favorite work out songs for your enjoyment. Feel free to post your own:
Warm Up:
Semi-Charmed Life - Third Eye Blind - 4:29
Baba O'Riley - The Who - 4:14
Carolina Blues - Blues Traveler - 4:43
Peaches - The Presidents Of The United States Of America - 2:52
Setting Your Pace:
Underground - Ben Folds Five - 4:11
Rockin' The Suburbs - Ben Folds - 4:59
Everlong - Foo Fighters - 4:10
Such Great Heights - The Postal Service - 4:27
Feel Good Inc. - Gorillaz - 3:41
The Rockafeller Skank - Fatboy Slim - 6:56
That Was A Crazy Game Of Poker (Live Version) - O.A.R. - 12:52
Machinehead - Bush - 4:16
When You Were Young - The Killers - 3:40
Really Pushing It:
Smooth Criminal - Alien Ant Farm - 3:29 - Yup, this is a Michael Jackson cover
Somebody Told Me - The Killers - 3:18
Headstrong - Trapt - 4:46
Song 2 - Blur - 2:01
Mr. Brightside - The Killers - 3:43
Everything Zen - Bush - 4:38
Chop Suey! - System of a Down - 3:31
All These Things That I've Done - The Killers - 5:02
Cool Down:
Mr. Jones - Counting Crows - 4:32
Brian Wilson - Barenaked Ladies - 4:45
DARE - Gorillaz - 4:04
Snow (Hey Oh) - Red Hot Chili Peppers - 5:35
And believe it or not, I actually use iTunes to get my music. No Russian websites, CD swapping rings or BitTorrent for me.
Showing posts with label running. Show all posts
Showing posts with label running. Show all posts
Monday, August 4, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Day 0*: Tears and Beers
Bloating. Cramps. Gas. Some people may blame this on "The Change" (Hi Mom!). Or maybe bad shrimp. Or maybe you went to your brother's going away party at Red Robin.
A word of advice - if you're going to have a four course meal, don't do it at this outstanding establishment. When the waitress asks if you want Onion Rings, don't reply "Please, we want 2 orders!". When you have the chance to order a burger topped with bacon, eggs and guacamole, pass it up. When the waitress comes back and says "Our desserts usually feed 3-4 people", believe her. Pretty much, be anti American if you visit this most American of eateries.
And while you're at it, don't have those 3 extra beers once you get home. Or the Root beer Schnapps. I could go into detail, but sometimes a picture does more justice than words ever could:
Needless to say, the start of Day 0 did not see yours truly feeling like a million bucks. Luckily, a long, cleansing run with my mom, follow
ed by a double-d breakfast provided by her way too patient fiancee put me right back into the swing of things. After some packing of cars, obligatory photos, hugs, handshakes and tears, we were finally on the road.
Unfortunately, so was every Mass-hole, spoiled Rhode Island trust fund baby (sorry ICH - you know it's true), and speedo clad OOB patron. Despite the challenges brought on by such people who should never be allowed to enter the beautiful state of Maine (or NH or VT for that matter), we were able to make it to our first stop with no major problems (other than a couple stops for adjustments of a couple bike and cargo straps).
All in all, a very good Day 0. Up bright and early for Day 1 tomorrow - New York State, here we come!
View Larger Map
*If you are unsure why I start counting at 0, ask your favorite Computer Scientist.
A word of advice - if you're going to have a four course meal, don't do it at this outstanding establishment. When the waitress asks if you want Onion Rings, don't reply "Please, we want 2 orders!". When you have the chance to order a burger topped with bacon, eggs and guacamole, pass it up. When the waitress comes back and says "Our desserts usually feed 3-4 people", believe her. Pretty much, be anti American if you visit this most American of eateries.
And while you're at it, don't have those 3 extra beers once you get home. Or the Root beer Schnapps. I could go into detail, but sometimes a picture does more justice than words ever could:
Needless to say, the start of Day 0 did not see yours truly feeling like a million bucks. Luckily, a long, cleansing run with my mom, follow
ed by a double-d breakfast provided by her way too patient fiancee put me right back into the swing of things. After some packing of cars, obligatory photos, hugs, handshakes and tears, we were finally on the road.Unfortunately, so was every Mass-hole, spoiled Rhode Island trust fund baby (sorry ICH - you know it's true), and speedo clad OOB patron. Despite the challenges brought on by such people who should never be allowed to enter the beautiful state of Maine (or NH or VT for that matter), we were able to make it to our first stop with no major problems (other than a couple stops for adjustments of a couple bike and cargo straps).
All in all, a very good Day 0. Up bright and early for Day 1 tomorrow - New York State, here we come!
View Larger Map
*If you are unsure why I start counting at 0, ask your favorite Computer Scientist.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Don't Fat Men Waddle?
As you may have guessed by the little blog title up there, I have a couple things that I think define me pretty well:
1. I am (or at one point was) fat.
2. I like to run.
The former point is a matter of opinion. No, I don't wear 52 inch jeans, but I don't have a six pack either. I'm somewhere in between. Only a handful of lucky ladies have had the opportunity to really take in the full picture and unless one of them surprises me with a comment, I may never know the truth.
The latter point is a little more interesting to talk about. I like to run. That's easy to say, right? Well, leave it to me to complicate such a simple statement. I like to run sometimes. I think the new (and outstanding) New Balance commercials say it best - I have a love and hate affair with running.
If you were to plot my interest in running, it would resemble a Sine wave.
It's a continuous cycle of up and down. Love and hate. Black and white. 1 and 0. It starts out innocently enough, with a sunny afternoon waddle through the streets of whatever city I'm living in.
A few weeks later I've found that my time has improved, I'm up to 5-6 miles at a time and really enjoying life. If I kept at this level, all would be good. I'm losing weight, feeling great and am happier in general.
It's the next step that's the problem. "Self," I say, "You should really train for a race. You'll get in great shape, get a t-shirt and maybe even meet a cute girl or two." This is an ideal thought. Then competitiveness sets in. I ran a 54 minute 10k last week? Better knock that down to 52 minutes. My friend is training for a 10 miler? I should up it to a half marathon.
Bloody nipples, chaffing and road side bathroom breaks* become a common topic of discussion with my friends, who gratefully endure such talk. I start to get burnt out. My knees and ankles hurt. I'm sleeping 10 hours a night and don't have much of an appetite. Overall, it is becoming a very enjoyable experience. Next time I'll just poke myself in the eye and have it done and over with in 10 minutes.
Finally, the much anticipated race will come and go. I'll promptly swear off running seconds after crossing the finish line. I'll take a few weeks off before vowing to start lifting. Or maybe pick up some spandex and start roller blading. Then again, some co-ed dodgeball or soccer might do the trick. Whatever the next activity is, it won't be running. Anything that doesn't end in me waking up at 5am, wearing a bib, and sporting some short shorts sounds like a good idea.
Then a few months later the whole process will start again (see above Sine wave - man, do I love math). I know running is the trailer dwelling, undershirt wearing, menthol light smoking boyfriend who will continue to wail away on me, but I just can't escape. I need to be sore. I need the attention. I need the love/hate relationship.
And there you have the overly complex explanation of my blog's name. And remember, if you see me on COPS, please realize it was the running that made me do it.
*I've found these can be solved by band-aids, runner's lube and Immodium AD, respectively.
1. I am (or at one point was) fat.
2. I like to run.
The former point is a matter of opinion. No, I don't wear 52 inch jeans, but I don't have a six pack either. I'm somewhere in between. Only a handful of lucky ladies have had the opportunity to really take in the full picture and unless one of them surprises me with a comment, I may never know the truth.
The latter point is a little more interesting to talk about. I like to run. That's easy to say, right? Well, leave it to me to complicate such a simple statement. I like to run sometimes. I think the new (and outstanding) New Balance commercials say it best - I have a love and hate affair with running.
If you were to plot my interest in running, it would resemble a Sine wave.
It's a continuous cycle of up and down. Love and hate. Black and white. 1 and 0. It starts out innocently enough, with a sunny afternoon waddle through the streets of whatever city I'm living in.
A few weeks later I've found that my time has improved, I'm up to 5-6 miles at a time and really enjoying life. If I kept at this level, all would be good. I'm losing weight, feeling great and am happier in general.
It's the next step that's the problem. "Self," I say, "You should really train for a race. You'll get in great shape, get a t-shirt and maybe even meet a cute girl or two." This is an ideal thought. Then competitiveness sets in. I ran a 54 minute 10k last week? Better knock that down to 52 minutes. My friend is training for a 10 miler? I should up it to a half marathon.
Bloody nipples, chaffing and road side bathroom breaks* become a common topic of discussion with my friends, who gratefully endure such talk. I start to get burnt out. My knees and ankles hurt. I'm sleeping 10 hours a night and don't have much of an appetite. Overall, it is becoming a very enjoyable experience. Next time I'll just poke myself in the eye and have it done and over with in 10 minutes.
Finally, the much anticipated race will come and go. I'll promptly swear off running seconds after crossing the finish line. I'll take a few weeks off before vowing to start lifting. Or maybe pick up some spandex and start roller blading. Then again, some co-ed dodgeball or soccer might do the trick. Whatever the next activity is, it won't be running. Anything that doesn't end in me waking up at 5am, wearing a bib, and sporting some short shorts sounds like a good idea.
Then a few months later the whole process will start again (see above Sine wave - man, do I love math). I know running is the trailer dwelling, undershirt wearing, menthol light smoking boyfriend who will continue to wail away on me, but I just can't escape. I need to be sore. I need the attention. I need the love/hate relationship.
And there you have the overly complex explanation of my blog's name. And remember, if you see me on COPS, please realize it was the running that made me do it.
*I've found these can be solved by band-aids, runner's lube and Immodium AD, respectively.
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