Oh, man.  Am I sore.

Friday night, the hubs and I did Insanity.  Like we always do.  Goddamn thing is never ending.  OH!  But he did say that after Insanity: Asylum, he'd be interested in some mixed martial arts.  I've been pushing for some krav maga classes (thanks, How I Met Your Mother), so this'll help.  There's a studio not too, too far that offers adult grappling classes, which sounds pretty awesome. Where was I going with this?

Saturday morning, I had a 5k on the beach.  It was my best time so far (just under 33 mins) and really kind of crazy.  I've never run on the beach, so the little shifting of the sand was worrisome for me and my feet.  And I screwed up making my playlist and had to spend five minutes listening to a song that offers me absolutely no motivation.  And then the sun.  And I had to pee.  Badly.  I dragged myself to the finish and crawled to the bathroom to splash water on myself and use the facilities.  I didn't even pause to see if D was following.  Here's a clip of me closing.  D made fun of me for hurdling the timer mats.  Whatevs.

Post-ride.  LOVE THE SWEAT!  (Okay, it's hard to see, shuddup.)

Soccer sock tan line.  Sexy.

God, I love my horse.

I work a full-time job.  The hubs and I are still actively doing Insanity (Round 2, Month 2, Week 1... kill me).  And I'm still running, still playing soccer.  And still eating too much, it seems.  :)

But, between all this, I've found the time to increase my rides on Archie.  I'm crazy about him getting injured, so I've tried to do the conditioning stuff slowly.  I haven't even asked him to canter yet (but if he offers, I sure as hell accept).

So this is what it's been like, lately:  we started out with a fifteen minute walking warm up (only the beginning fraction of which was he allowed to be molasses.. then he had to pick up his freaking feet), a seven minute trot, a ten minute walk, another seven minute trot and a ten minute cool-down.  I don't know whether this should embarrass me, but we actually spent a couple weeks meandering towards the seven minutes of trot.  And I've tried to keep it interesting:  one rotation around the pasture will take us up and down the little "hill", while the next rotation will take us over the trot poles.  Maybe I'll toss in a crossrail.  Maybe he'll offer a canter and I'll let him stretch it out.  I discovered with this approach, this slow, methodical and insanely timed approach, that he was offering more forward and more stretch.  There were periods in the beginning of the trot that he would go searching for truffles while trying not to kick himself in the face.  And I would hold the buckle as I posted, letting him get round and down and long.

We're currently up to a ten minute walking warm-up (one minute of molasses, thanks), followed by a ten minute trot, a five minute walk, another ten trotting and a ten minute cool-down.  So, the ride is actually about ten minutes quicker.  If I ride him two days in a row, I give him the third day off.  Just for now, though, because we're totally on a schedule and I don't have much time to baby him.  A schedule, mind.  No definitive goals set yet.

I rode him last night and he had his feeters done yesterday morning.  Being the sensitive Thoroughbred that he is, he gets a little tenderfooted after the farrier visits.  And he'd just finished eating dinner and was munching on hay.  Inspired by the "Recovery" day that Shaun T. gives us in Insanity, I thought that I might make Wednesdays unofficially our slow and steady day.  So I spent thirty minutes just walking the bastard, without touching the reins.  I had a little stick in my hand that I'd pulled off a tree and I used that to keep my hands occupied.  We followed our same routines:  up and down the hill, around to the ground poles.  If he wasn't listening or wasn't responding to my leg, I very gently tapped him with the stick.  The one time he tried to dart out of the gate, though?  He got smacked hard.  He knew better.

This is completely random and I get that, but it's something that seriously pisses me off.

I live in an apartment community, like most of the 20-somethings that I know.  And I have my two little precious furry bastard children.  Okay, like five of them.  But only two that I walk outside on a consistent basis.  My dogs, people.  My dogs.

There have been a multitude of times that my dogs have encountered other dogs - running free through the yards between our townhouses.  I've brought it up with the landlord, whose motto seems to be "not a single fuck was given."  And I've bitched at the owners of those dogs.  No one seems to care.  My husband jokes (at least, I think he's joking) about getting a German Shepard, always named Fritz, and training him in traditional German.  And, when those other dogs are encountered, given a single command:  attack.

It sounds brutal and it really takes me back to a whole difficult line of thinking:  hurt before you are hurt.  My army will destroy your army before your army can lift a gun.  And, essentially, that's the war that my husband wants to wage on people who are breaking the law and endangering our dogs.  Short of getting a killer GSD, I've thought of other things, like pepper spray.  I know Georgia law allows me to defend myself against dogs that could cause harm, but I don't know if that extends to defending Scarlette and Savannah.

Examples of the encounters:  several times with my direct neighbor's unaltered "mastiff" mix, the last of which he came onto my patio and I had a panic attack; another neighbor's pit bull running free, who was also loose again today; several encounters with a husky and her dipshit owner; and a few encounters with an American bulldog and chihuahua combo.  The chihuahua, little bastard breed, actually got in my way running one night and tried to chase me.  Scarlette got her in the face at the last encounter.

Chatham County: §22-112 Restrictions on Dogs Running at Large.
(a) It shall be unlawful for any dog to be on the streets, lanes, highways, roads or squares of unincorporated Chatham County or loose on vacant lots or unenclosed lots, so that it may freely have access to the streets, lanes, highways or squares of unincorporated Chatham County unless such dog is held firmly on a leash, by a person capable of maintaining control. It shall be the duty of any owner or possessor or any person who harbors or keeps any dog to confine securely by means of fence, kennel, leash or other device so as to ensure confinement within the limits of their own premise, the same within the limits of his own premises and not to permit such dog to run or have access to run the streets, lanes, highways, roads or squares or parks of unincorporated Chatham County except as above set forth or for hunting, field trials and the working of said dogs.
(b) Puppies and kittens are not to run at large. Dogs or cats less than three months of age shall be confined to their owner’s premises and not allowed to run at large.
(c) Where any animal, dog or cat, whose owner or custodian is found to be in violation of any provision of this ordinance, the Animal Control officer shall have a duty and authority to issue a
citation and a subpoena to owner or custodian for the violation of said article.

I have nothing against alcohol.  Alcohol and I?  We're friends.  We've been great friends and not-so-great friends.

I remember my first beer.  I was in high school.  It was a Miller High Life, the Champagne of Beers.  I was in the backseat of a car.  The front seats were occupied by two Harvard students, one of which I was intent on impressing.  I didn't mention that I'd never had a beer before, that I was uncomfortable with idea of breaking so many little laws in such quick succession.  Infatuation and my not-yet-fully-developed teenage brain were working against common sense.

Nothing happened.

I didn't spew beer-laden vomit all over the seat, I didn't have barely-remembered intimacies with the Harvard student, I didn't get into a motor vehicle accident.  I just drank my beer and parted ways with the older fellows.

Since then, I've gone the normal course that I think most of my peers have traveled.  The college nights of heavy drinking, the random bouts of memory-loss.  Parties.  Dates.  Breakups.  And then the switch flips and I'm okay.  I don't want a beer for the better part of a year.  I'm not making any mixers as we sit down to watch a movie.  It's just alcohol.  Empty calories and a dehydrated brain.

As this fitness thing (a "lifestyle change", as D calls it), has taken over more and more of my life, I'm not really interested in drinking.  I went out recently with some girlfriends.  I had a couple drinks as I watched them get sloshed.  I was more interested in having a good time than having a good time.  Does that make sense?  I wanted to remember the interactions we were having, I wanted to build on the relationships, rather than have drunken memories and possibly throw up on someone.  Again.

And now that I'm making these decisions not to put myself in positions where I'm going to be surrounded by people, coercing me into throwing away the hard work for that day or that week and all the issues that come with it, I'm getting flack.  Jesus.  I feel like a born-again Christian.  Don't get me wrong:  after a soccer game, I want nothing more than to get a big ol' 32 oz Miller Lite.  And, because I've just burned a thousand calories in an hour, I do.  And I love it.  But it doesn't get me sloshed and I don't have more than that one giant beer.

But the flack I'm getting.  Is there nothing else for people to do than to hang out and drink?  Half the time, my husband isn't even invited to these social affairs.  Why the fuck would I want to continuously go somewhere that he can't?  I married him for a reason.  I like his company.  I like spending time with him.  And, bottom line, he's going to win every single fucking time.  Is it just me?  Are my expectations too high?  Is it too much to want people to engage in some activity, rather than throw money into sugar and alcohol?  What happened to going to dinner, to the movies, to bowl?  Do I have to order rounds, sneak in a flask or buy a pitcher in order to get people to join us?

Ugh.  I am going to end up hanging out with the religious people because they can have a good time without getting snockered.