The Devil Wears Lululemon Yoga Pants

Funds collected to date: $1044.40 (39%)
Amount needed to reach pledge: $1,575.60
Miles Ran This Week: 23 (longest single run = 6 miles a mile up in the sky)
Weeks to Go: 17

This past weekend I attended the wedding of my friends Russ and Sam. The significance to this running blog is that Sam is the lovely lady I have mentioned in previous posts who has had a large part in both inspiring me to run a Marathon as well as directing me as to the appropriate items I need to spend copious amounts of money on to make the running happen.

Sam and Russ live -- and were wed -- in Denver, CO. As you are likely well-aware, Denver is located a mile up in the sky where the air is brighter, cleaner, happier...and much thinner. Because Sam is awesome (read: slightly crazy and masochistic), she had scheduled a jam-packed weekend full of physical activities and a little thing I like to call a "wedding."

Friday, S and I went on a six-mile treadmill run in the lovely hotel gym. Here is my written impression on what it is like to run in altitude:

WHEEEEEEEZZZZEEE

It hurt. I was supposed to run 10 miles this weekend, but I am confident that running 6 in Denver was more than enough.

Saturday, S planned for a private group Bar Method class. I was excited, because this was a great time for me to get in my cross-training for the week. During Marathon training (or really anytime, for that matter), it is important to get cross-training into your schedule. This can be accomplished through swimming, eliptical, yoga, weights, etc. The purpose -- from what I understand -- is to continue strengthening your body's muscles while also allowing for your running muscles to not get burnt out from running continuous days. Also, it's good to increase flexibility, decrease boredom, and increase the likelihood that you sound knowledgable during long blog entries.

Ok, so back to Bar Method. This class is a combination of stretching flexibility exercises, ballet dance techniques (hense the 'bar'), conditioning, and little pieces of hell. The class is led by a chipper woman who I will now refer to as "The Devil."

The Devil knows your name. She has somehow learnt it in the 5 minutes between when you approached the counter to fill out the documentation stating that you will not sue the Bar Method if you die and entering the studio. The Devil will call you out -- by name -- when you are not doing exercises perfectly. The Devil knows all.

The Devil will direct you to hold poses that are named things such as "The Pretzel" as if they are no big deal. In fact, they are a very big deal. An example of something the Devil might cavalierly say:

"Once you are in the seated position, simply move your left leg behind your right ear. Gently extend your right arm and pull back on your left leg until it snaps off. Place your left leg in front of you on the floor and somersault over it. Come on, Meredith, I see you over there! Smile while you rip your leg off of your body!"

The Devil will have you hold poses for hours at a time. She will never let up. If you break a pose, she will sweetly smile at you and tell you that you can do better. The Devil believes in you.

The Devil will play Justin Bieber and other heartwarming music to give you the illusion that everything is okay. And sometimes it does feel okay. It feels good even. This is all part of the Devil's ploy. Those muscles which do feel good in the moment will make you regret having legs at all the next day. And arms. And hips. And other muscle groups you may have been unaware existed at all.

But The Devil's greatest trick of all is that you realize after some time of reflection, pain and copious cursing...that if you were to go back again and again...you would be hot. Like, really hot. The Devil would give you Jennifer Aniston's arms, J-Lo's butt and the ab muscles of...someone other hot female celebrity. That's how The Devil sucks you in and has you begging for more.

So, congratulations to my friend Sam on her marriage and her ability to rope me into training in altitude and conditioning my muscles all before throwing on heels and a bridesmaid dress and boogy-ing down all night. I guess it all paid off when I was able to use my athletic prowess to catch (snatch? steal?) the bouquet. The Devil would have been proud.