Letting Life Lead
My dear husband and I decided to go back to the gym and get moving November of last year. It’s had some fits and starts with the holidays and complete lack of motivation on my part. Though to be fair my darling tends to pose questions rather than make statements, “Are we going to the gym today?” Which really prompts me to want to say, “No.” Rephrase that my love to, “It’s gym day. Let’s go.” A statement will get a groan, but far more motivation out of me. The kids go to the on site child watch to run around like fools, he rides the stationary bike, and I torture myself on the indoor track because the narrow bike seat hurts my ass.
I’ve got a vision in my head of doing a video journal this time around, but unfortunately I don’t have more than novice editing skills, and likely a complete lack of comedic timing to pull it off. A photo journal makes me wince because you have to let it all hang out. I haven’t ruled such an endeavors, but I’m not particularly optimistic that it’ll happen. I didn’t manage to write down anything when we first started this time, but I’m only on week two of the program and it’s January! Instead, I provide for you a journal entry from the first time I did the program when I was a little younger and gearing up for my wedding day in August of that year.
I’ve tried running before and failed (more than once I might add). Maybe if I keep a journal I’ll actually feel obligated enough to keep going even though what I really want to do is plunk my behind on the couch.
I’m tired of reading the “I had a great run” blips on the Internet. Dammit, where are the non-runners who are in agony and moaning the whole way? Where is the sweat? Where is the cursing? The dark thoughts? The stories about side stitches and untied laces and confusion over what the Frigg, “You shouldn’t be out of breath,” is supposed to mean when you are breathing great, deep breathes after a few paces.
I don’t like to exercise. I don’t get energized. I never get an exercise rush and I don’t look forward to working out. Ever. I do it because it is free and supposed to be good for me. I do it because I want my butt back. I do it because I would like to put on my underwear without creating handles and an elastic mark on my thigh. I despise cardio and I don’t run for giggles. I don’t even remember running much as a child either. I’d rather be reading and sipping cocoa.
I am trying to learn how to run properly. Today (actually yesterday) I downloaded and converted a podcast to mp3 made by some guy named Robert Ullrey that uses the couch to 5k plan from http://www.ullreys.com/robert/
Podcasts/ (This link is no longer functioning and no one knows what happened to Robert, but the podcasts can be found via Google). The podcasts are based off of the Cool Runnings Couch to 5K plan (the plan is still available and they have an app for that.) I’m going to conquer this running beast this time.
This is the week 1 plan:
I plan on doing the plan three days a week as recommended on Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday. I found the podcast very helpful in keeping on task as I don’t have to bother checking my watch or fiddling with counters. The electronic music isn’t my thing, but it is far better than listening to myself huff and puff! You warm up at a brisk walk for five minutes. Then run/jog for 60 sections, then recover at a walk for 90 seconds. Rinse and repeat eight times.
Here is how it went:
Interval 1: Not so bad. But tripped over my own feet. Smile at little boy running across track median happily.
Interval 2: Forgot to breath in through nose out through mouth, got side stitch immediately. Ow…Ow…Ow. Slowed down pace. Hold side; hold hand above head; breathe deep. Nothing works.
Interval 3: Side stitch a little better, but worse by the end of the interval. I concentrated on breathing and begin frowning at the little boy from afar who is running like an airplane. Why is 60 seconds the longest time frame ever, and why is 90 minutes so quick? The podcast voice must be lying to me. I’m sure of it. Are you lying to me, Robert?
Interval 4-5: Side stitch is mocking me. My legs are getting tired. I need to blow my nose. I choke a bit on spit from a deep inhale.
Interval 6: I lost count of how many are left. I begin to panic; how can I possibly do any more? I curse the podcast voice and that little brat is still going. He doesn’t even look winded.
Interval 7: My legs feeling quite heavy but the side stitch is finally gone! Ahh, relief. I take a moment to glare at the boy at a safe distance. Usually there is no one here, but today someone is walking and brought him.
Interval 8: I lost my legs somehow. I hate Robert. His voice reminds 20 seconds left. No! Don’t tell me! Arrgh!
Robert tells me that I’m done and did a good job. Honestly, I’m not sure how I managed to finish. My legs are hurting, my chest aches. I want to die.
I tried not to plod like I usually do and tried to spring. It feels really weird to run slower and bounce rather than run faster with a shocking foot smack. I wasn’t sure I was doing it right, but notice that my shins didn’t hurt as much as they usually do when I try to run. However, my thighs, butt, and calves sure felt worked over.
The Literary (or Junk) Writings of Leslie Muzingo
Poetry, History, Mythology
Chronicles of a White Trash Hoe's Attempt to Climb the Social Ladder
Learn to Live
Fiction, Nonfiction, and Poetry Journal
TinyPurpleMe: Part Two
Illustrated Short Stories
Essays and reviews on narrative in games and new media
My reflections of life in general.