Monday, May 31, 2010
Week 3: Princesses Shouldn't Have to Have Patience
Running. How hard can it be? Right?! One foot forward, switch, next foot forward, switch, arms at sides-pumping, trees whizzing past your peripheral vision, air goes into lungs and back out and, wait. That is precisely what complicates matters. When my feet are forced to propel me faster than 4 miles an hour, my lungs refuse to cooperate. Donzo. Brakes. Urrch. No good, no go. I should probably quit smoking. Really, really quit. Going from one and a half packs a day to 1, 2, on a bad day, 3 cigarettes a day is, as my nine-year-old reminded me tonight, merely an improvement. But I can't congratulate myself on any success just yet. My daughter, the mini-sage, does not approve of my improvement. I still run. Let's call it lurching though, in keeping with the spirit of integrity I am attempting to imbue this blog with. Lurch, trip, gasp, wheeze, repeat. Seriously?! Ladies and gentlemen: if I can do this, anyone, and quite literally, anyone, can do it. On the upside, I'm so excited (or, if you prefer, insert any slightly hyperbolic state of emotion here: )to see the progress of my measurements, I decide that time has magically fast-forwarded and ta-da! It's been a month since the last round of data gathering. Reality check: it has not been a month--it's been two weeks. I don't know what I was expecting, but I wasn't expecting what I got. After hours of bike rides, weight lifting, walking, lurching, tennis games, parking a block away from the grocery store, wearing wrist weights and turning down donuts (DONUTS?! Ahhhhhhh....I LOVE donuts), very very few things changed. I've lost 2lbs. Hmmm...does 2 look better when I spell it out? Two pounds. Definitely better. More than an inch of me has left my waistline, and yep, that is about it. I hear Casey's mantra--"you are not your numbers". I do a quick estimate of how many calories and avoided exercise hours led me to my current state--I settle for a lot and then decide more intensive action is needed: I join my girlfriend for a jog-hike. On a mountain. On a rocky trail. Uphill both ways. Just kidding about that both ways part. This is her idea of fun. If I believed in purgatory--that is closer to what I would call this hike. I live in a desert and if you know nothing else about deserts, you know they are HOT. And don't believe that crap about dry heat, 110 degrees is just hot. I remembered the sunscreen, my pants, and water. I forgot my pedometer, my camel-pak and wrist weights. I am brave. I smile and tromp off behind my friend. She jogs this route daily. I have never been here. She is more patient with me than I am with my fat. I am thirsty and drain nearly all my water before we are halfway through. Oops. Now, I am really really thirsty. She gets runner's high. I get queasy and dry heave on the side of the path. I am reasonably certain stars don't shine at the same time as the sun and communicate my turn for the worse to my friend. Her knee is acting up. I would feel relieved, but then I would have to make room for guilt. I tell her this--the truth is less complicated than any other explanation. She wants me to come do this again. I will. It was fun.