Deja vu
Months ago, I got all up on my high horse and announced that I was going to start running again. Then I promptly gained 10 pounds and a really great body image. It went along these lines: I am an Amazon goddess! Minus the height. Yay ME.
Then I saw this incriminating photo.
Anyone who has struggled with their weight knows exactly what I mean. It showcased the rolls of fat in my abdomen, made my face look like a marshmallow, and made my upper arms look like canned hams.
The great body image flew out the window, and in its place are my new running shoes.
So this week I am starting again. It's hard, I will whine, my knees will go to hell, and -- most galling of all -- when I "run"? I'll be at 4.2 on the treadmill. It's a slow, slow jog, the kind I used to deride when I was running twice as fast.
Actually, it's not even jogging. It's more an ambitious shuffle. But with my cardio in the toilet, lugging 30 extra pounds on my frame, 4.2 mph gets me sweating and breathing hard, with my heart rate in the target zone. I do little pops of 4.5 to get my heart rate up even more.
(Somewhere, my Boot Camp instructor from 3 years ago has a stomach ache. Where did my 7.5 mph girl go? He asks. I reply: To the bakery.)
But I digress.
So after the first 2 weeks, all of a sudden, I'll realize I'm phoning it in, and I'll start "running" at 5.0 (12-minute miles, still quite slow). And that'll be tough for a couple weeks, and I'll still be all wheezy on the machine, but then I'll realize that my cardio has actually improved.
And so on, and so on. It's all about conditioning... and getting through the first month. And pacing yourself. And training your brain to shut up about it being so hard.
After that, it's all about orthopedics and how to avoid fucking your knees up really severely, because you know you're going to have the knees of a 70-year-old anyway.
It's just, do you want to have the knees of a 70-year-old who can hobble along without help, or a 70-year-old in a walker? That's the decision.
Then I saw this incriminating photo.
Anyone who has struggled with their weight knows exactly what I mean. It showcased the rolls of fat in my abdomen, made my face look like a marshmallow, and made my upper arms look like canned hams.
The great body image flew out the window, and in its place are my new running shoes.
So this week I am starting again. It's hard, I will whine, my knees will go to hell, and -- most galling of all -- when I "run"? I'll be at 4.2 on the treadmill. It's a slow, slow jog, the kind I used to deride when I was running twice as fast.
Actually, it's not even jogging. It's more an ambitious shuffle. But with my cardio in the toilet, lugging 30 extra pounds on my frame, 4.2 mph gets me sweating and breathing hard, with my heart rate in the target zone. I do little pops of 4.5 to get my heart rate up even more.
(Somewhere, my Boot Camp instructor from 3 years ago has a stomach ache. Where did my 7.5 mph girl go? He asks. I reply: To the bakery.)
But I digress.
So after the first 2 weeks, all of a sudden, I'll realize I'm phoning it in, and I'll start "running" at 5.0 (12-minute miles, still quite slow). And that'll be tough for a couple weeks, and I'll still be all wheezy on the machine, but then I'll realize that my cardio has actually improved.
And so on, and so on. It's all about conditioning... and getting through the first month. And pacing yourself. And training your brain to shut up about it being so hard.
After that, it's all about orthopedics and how to avoid fucking your knees up really severely, because you know you're going to have the knees of a 70-year-old anyway.
It's just, do you want to have the knees of a 70-year-old who can hobble along without help, or a 70-year-old in a walker? That's the decision.
posted by Brooke at 3:15 PM
2 Comments:
It's the Rise of the Penguins!
Yeah, me too :) The gift I gave myself for my birthday this year? Jogging again. And yeah, I do the ambitious shuffle. I don't know about "phoning it in," I'll be happy just to shuffle along for the full mile. And the fat dog too.
Ha - I am with you, Penguin Brother! Doesn't it just suck?
On the other hand, I bet the fat dog loves it. And look what a good example you're setting for your lovely children. Good for you! You're an inspiration.
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