Running Jams.

Let's preface this little gem by coming right out loud with the fact that I am not a runner. I do not aspire to become a runner, nor do I have any delusions of grandeur that I will ever love and/or be good at running.

However, since Boot Camp has come to a close, I've recently come to terms with the fact despite my loathsome attitude, running is both the quickest way to keep whipping this tired body into shape and the best stress reliever of all time. (Save a bottle of Grey Goose...which would counteract the running and be a wash. So that's out.)

I recently gave the ol' "Running Jams" playlist on my iPod a facelift and thought I would share my top 10 beats with you. In exchange, feel free to leave a comment with some of your favorite running (or walking, or sleeping, or whatever) tunes.

1. "Life Is A Highway" - Rascal Flatts (I could literally run to this one on repeat for the entire 30 minutes I'm currently able to run without dying of cardiac arrest.)
2. "Don't Stop Believin'" - Glee Cast
3. "It's Your Life" - Francesca Battistelli (Glances to immediate left.)
4. "Me Against The Music" - Britney Spears
5. ""Get It Poppin'" - Fat Joe (Disclaimer: I only know this song because Ellen played it over and over as her pre-show dance party when I was on maternity leave.)
6. "Stronger" - Kanye West
7. "Born to Fly" - Sara Evans
8. "Boom Boom Pow" - Blackeyed Peas
9. "Out Tonight" - RENT Soundtrack (Movie version.)
10. "My Life Would Suck Without You" - Kelly Clarkson

Pause For The Applause.

Yesterday morning, I got up for the third consecutive week at the ass crack of dawn to inflict hot, sweaty pain upon myself.

And I rocked it.

I ran suicide sprints for 20 minutes before most of you were even upright. I did the "300" workout (read: 300 reps of exercises targeting major muscle groups) while most of you were still drooling on your pillowcases.

And it was awesome.

I'm really starting to notice a difference--not only in my body shape (well hello there, pants that I can take off without unzipping) but also in my endurance. I'm not claiming to be the next Jackie Warner (snarf) but I AM becoming a better, stronger version of me. And quite frankly, I'm loving it.

Speeeeeeeeaking of Jackie Warner, does anyone else watch (and subsequently LOVE) her new show on Bravo called 'Thintervention?' It's so, so, so funny. Nikki is a high-LAR-ious drunkard and lovingly more quotable than a Will Ferrell movie.

In related TV news--'Glee' starts tonight! Ready, set DVR!

I Go Walking In My Sleep.

Meh. Today was Day 2 of Bootcamp. Katie (also known as "world's most evil trainer") made us partake in a loverly little obstacle course with a dash of circuit training thrown in.

Here's what I've learned so far:

• Running up and down steps sucks a great deal of ass.
• You use your hamstrings for ev-ah-ree-thang. I know this because I can FEEL them. Even when I don't move.
• My triceps? Weak as a kitten.
• 5:30 a.m. isn't so bad. Like, on a scale of 1 to Hiroshima, it's like a 5.2.

And let's just be clear on one thing, shall we? I do not desire an early morning chitty chat on our mile run warmup with the cheerfully disgusting and skinny LAWYER with perfect hair, booty and adorably matching Puma workout gear. I don't want to hear about your OPTHAMOLOGIST boyfriend or his perfect life/hair/ass/car, either. I just want to run, hating you all the while for motivation to keep going. Mmmmmkay?

Boot Camp...The Non-Birthday Edition.

It's not December, so it can't possibly be Birthday Boot Camp time around these parts. Hi-ev-uh, I am embarking on a new (and terrifying) form of Boot Camp...one that will surely bring loads of entertainment for your daily reading enjoyment.

Today's Detroit Groupon was 73% off a women's-only fitness boot camp. (Yes, God. I'm listening.) I've been making excuses for, oh...about a year... as to when, why and how I'll get the rest of this baby weight off my arse and quite frankly, it needs to stop. So, I went to their website and read through some of the really powerful testimonials (um, hello 'before' and 'after' pics!) and decided I've failed for too long on my own.

And so, against all my better judgment, I clicked "Buy" and registered for a 4-week camp. I begin my own personal hell the week after Labor Day. Participants are guaranteed:

• 3-5% reduction in body fat
• Greatly improved posture
• Better relaxation
• 5-12 pounds of weight loss
• 1-3 inch decrease in the midsection
• 25% improvement in endurance
• 25% increase in strength
• 100% gain in self-confidence <--cheesy marketing

Yeah, we'll see about all of that in the beginning of October. In the meantime, expect a great deal of entertaining stories of paralyzing muscle soreness, ridiculous sleep deprivation (the last time I saw 5:30 am was 1986) and unending hatred of my new trainer.

Good times.

This Just In...

I. AM. OLD.

So yeah...I'm on this relaxing vacation, sunning my buns, sipping on margs and reading all sorts of trashy mags and chick lit. And every.single. magazine was preaching flat abs, sun protection and wrinkle reduction.

Ironic, no?

Because of my slightly obsessive compulsive personality and natural ability to blow most everything out of proportion, I took it as a sign from Hearst Publishing and some higher power that I need to A) Get my arse back on the treadmill; 2) Wear more sunscreen; and C) Pump up my Oil of Olay applications!

I officially bought eye cream last night, because Cosmo, all*you and Oprah told me that Crow's Feet are the first signs of aging. Oh, and eye cream was the one preventative ointment that's not in my current face-preservation repertoire. *gasp!*

I realize this is not the entry you were expecting post-vacation, but it's hot and heavy on my mind. Pics and vacay recap to come next, pinky swear.

Hear Me ROAR!

So yesterday I did something totally out of the ordinary for me: I shoveled the driveway.

I know what most of you are thinking...lame. But what you don't understand is this is a huge accomplishment for me. You see, in the VW household, we have rules. I don't do "hard jobs." This generally falls under the category of things that are too heavy, complicated, or boring for me to do myself. These are Joey's jobs, and are usually filed under: mowing the lawn, taking out the garbage, cooking meat on the grill, plunging toilets and fixing things.

Call me lame. Call me a wuss. Call me a diva. Whatever the word, I don't care.

However, yesterday I had the extremely rare urge to do something physical. Jillian and I are fighting, so I don't dare pop in 'The Shred'. And I'm pretty sure the treadmill wouldn't recognize my tennis shoes if I even tried to hop on it. The next best thing? Shoveling snow!

And so, I did. And it was rather satisfying.

Don't get me wrong, though...it's not something I will do every time. It's still a "hard job." :)

Ew.

So I forgot how much I totally hate sweat. Or simply the act of sweating. Or just even the thought of it. Ew.

On the flip side of this rainbow, I just got off the treadmill. Thirty minutes of pure, unadulterated awfulness, thankyouverylittle. Also, a big shout out to Stacey and Clinton from TLC's 'What Not To Wear' for keeping me delightfully entertained for the duration. I find her to be incredibly annoying; yet Clinton so very, very charming.

In related news, this act of self-sweat-mutilation has been brought to you by letters 'S' and 'C,' as in Sagebrush Cantina - the greatest Mexican restaurant on the face of the earth and also where Joe and I will be dining with the deliciously pregnant Keliann this evening.

Get my motivation?