August 20- Fury

Tonight I finally got angry. I railed against my impossible seeming and physically demanding schedule of the next week, the makers of Tecate beer, and swim suit manufacturers who believe that “plus size” women don’t actually swim and instead merely lounge about at the beach favoring garish floral ensembles. I fumed about the injustice of cheese having oh-so-many more calories than celery sticks. I glowered at the scale and its unchanging numbers.

I put on my darkest running clothes and became incensed that the laundry had not done itself and my gray running shirt was to disgusting to contemplate putting next to my skin. I would have rather just gone without, counting on my compression bra to suffice, but I need to lose the equivalent weight of a large bag of dog food before that’s happening. And then I realized what I was actually doing. All that lashing out? That was keeping me from focusing on where the true problem lay- with me.

When I started this fitness quest to recover the person I lost beneath the fast food and lethargy I made some pretty radical but entirely sustainable changes. Pairing a gym workout with a “run” was not uncommon, in fact, twice a week it was my norm. My diet improved, the weight started coming off. My body shape started changing. I got stronger. Then I became more complacent.

My eating habits backslid. The number and intensity of gym workouts decreased. Even my running stagnated. Happy hour turned into happy evenings- and occurred far too frequently. My choice of company became questionable. Without recognizing it as it happened, the slovenly me that sneaks into Walmart in the middle of the night for the value sized sugar sweetened cereal and larger size of pants was back and hanging out on the sofa with a big bowl of Lucky Charms.

The anger I felt before hit a new level- fury as I realized I am the only maker of my problems, and the only solution. I became Alecto, Greek Fury of constant anger. There was no visible moon and I intentionally chose the darkest section of trail available to me. I did not merely walk my five minute warm up, I stalked down the road, seething bitterness and sweat from every pore. It was not a far stretch to imagine serpentine hair and blood dripping from my eyes. Then I started to run.

And I ran. I didn’t jog. I didn’t shuffle. I ran. And I did it for a longer distance and time than I’ve managed so far. I gulped for air which seemed to be a commodity unavailable to me. My breath came in gasps. With every right foot fall I felt as if I were being kicked in the shin, every left step was the uncomfortable pop and hesitation in my knee. I slowed to a walk believing I would never again catch my breath. But I did, after about two minutes. The next eighteen minutes were comprised of walk/run drills and knee lifts that even my training program refers to as “hilarious looking.” I pushed through the darkness, both literal and figurative until I found myself further down the greenway than I had gone before.

By the time I got to the 15 minute “free form run” (read: mostly walked segment) that followed air that felt like it was coming from a blast furnace when I started felt cool- to the point it actually concerned me until I remembered the whole sweating thing is the bodies cooling mechanism.

I ran tonight with more heart, soul, guts, speed, and yes, anger than I have since I started. As long as I don’t allow it to become caustic I believe I will be well served by carrying that Fury with me. She is forging me into someone stronger, and into the self I hope to regain.

 

 

August 18

“Hiding in bed under the covers does not make you run faster.” Or at least that’s what I tried to tell myself this evening at 9:30 when I was all nicely tucked into bed with the lights out. And frankly, it was still 88 degrees out there, I was feeling tired, I had eaten a big supper, and I even set my alarm to get up early in the morning so I could run before work. Even I knew that last statement was folly. Me? Get out of bed in the morning to go exercise? On what planet does this happen? Then the thunder started, and the lightning, and the rain, and I thought to myself, “Whoops, can’t go now, it’s storming.”

Twenty minutes later the rain had stopped and the temperature was down to 80. So self, what’s your excuse now? Being unable to find a good one I hauled myself out of bed and got dressed for my run.

Since I was bothering to run, I decided I would make it count, and moved forward with the intensity of my workout. This was the first time I had changed up my workout since the end of July and those 5Ks in October are not going to run themselves, so I needed to get a move on. On my 5 minute warm up walk I noticed it felt surprisingly comfortable and not excessively humid. I believe this means in actuality that I am losing all sense of perspective. On my first jogging segment I ran for a longer period of time than ever before- and felt pretty good doing it.  The rain left the air smelling clean even past the dumpsters, and I had what I chose to consider a fabulous if not slightly scary light show with all the lightning about. I did feel perfectly safe though, as I was no where near the tallest thing around.  Seriously though, when am I ever?

My more interesting run was due in part though to a change in soundtrack.  Remember that 14.56 I spent last week?  Well I have integrated a good part of that into my new playlist for running.  Before, I was listening to carefully sanitized versions of pop songs redone by 2nd rate artists that no one has ever heard of, all carefully timed to play at exactly 128 beats per minute.  In addition to being so saccharine and perky that my inner-cynic frequently wanted to rip the earbuds from my ears and scream, each track was extended to play between four and six minutes which is much longer than its radio edit.  Longer, in this case, was not better as most of the additional “content” was a repeat of already vapid choruses and bass lines that all have this “chukka-chuckka-chuckka” kind of sound.

Now, I have music that in part is as agonizing as I feel. I have songs about attempting to sell your soul to the devil, and not fetching a single decent offer( Kongos-Come with me Now), I have songs about love running out (One Republic- Love Runs Out, nope no pun intended there), a great song about a lousy relationship (Halestorm- I miss the Misery) which basically embodies my relationship with exercise. “One less problem without you” is my understated mantra for my excess weight. (Iggy Azalea-Problem ) and Freak Like Me… (More Halestorm) well have you ever seen me run?  There’s a reason I run at night in the dark with no one around.  Dear readers, let me assure you- it’s not pretty.  Most importantly though I have songs I feel I can run to.  I’m not quite “Titanium” yet, and instead of “Counting Stars” I’m more frequently seeing stars, but I’m getting closer.

BTW, in case you were wondering, the cats are still nor helpful.  In fact, Frederick insisted on being either on my lap or on the keyboard after I was done running, so this post is being released a little late.

August 11- Homecoming

The mere fact that I’m writing this post should tell you that I did actually manage to go out for this evening’s run, but it certainly wasn’t easy. I could wax poetic (Read: fill these next few paragraphs with complete BS) about how I dug deep into myself and looked for what would intrinsically motivate me to continue to run, but I’ve always been pretty straight up in this blog and there’s no need for me to change now. Nope. Three things got me out the door tonight: a new pair of compression shorts, $14.56 worth of ITunes purchases to spice up my playlist, and knowing that my next big extrinsic motivation will only come after I hit another health milestone. I won’t get there by sitting on the couch.

Yep. Sheer petty materialism got me out the door tonight. Typically I run 3 nights a week, but after last Monday I decided to take the rest of the week off so tonight was my first night back. I decided to redo the workout I failed so miserably last week. It was 78 degrees and even though it wasn’t raining at that particular moment after about five minutes of walking I was as soaked as I was Saturday after being caught outside in a downpour. It was both warmer and more humid than it had been in DC, but in a way it was oddly comforting. I took a slightly different route on the greenway tonight, turning back behind my own subdivision. I walked when I was to walk, jogged when I was to jog, sucked wind when I was told to run, but ran anyway. I did my ridiculous looking knee lifts, but the feeling I felt the most was one of peace. No, there’s no pithy punchline to follow. Sorry.

My particular section of greenway this evening was mostly unlit, save for the moonlight. Much of it was under tree canopy, and I was glad that some nice light limestone-rich dirt had been laid down on the trail. Due to all the rain the smell was that of clean wet foliage. It’s a smell that brings comfort- it’s the smell of being out in the woods alone at night. When the trail grew brighter I knew I was approaching the creek and the marsh. That sight and smell has always been an indicator of home. And those were the things I felt: home, comfort, peace. And by the time I was half way through my work out I felt a tingling in my right leg, knee pain, and a side stich, but these are all things to be expected.

Most importantly though I am doing exactly what I need to be doing where I need to be doing it. I am running to slowly regain a part of me that I had let go of and replaced with apathy, lethargy, and size 14 pants. I am making the most of my gym membership so I can once again do the things I enjoy doing most without worrying about my knees hitting my gut on my bike or not being able to see the footholds while rock climbing. I want to once again feel the vitality that comes with strength, endurance, and good health. And I do feel it. It comes in fleeting moments when my muscles are tired after a workout, but I feel strangely happy. It comes when I tighten my belt one notch more than usual. It comes when I add another plate to the weights I’m lifting. And it’s not easy. If I ever need a reminder of that I just need to read last week’s post. But it’s worthwhile- one pair of compression shorts and a couple of new tracks at a time.

By the way, the cats are still not helpful.

Echo doesn’t care for ice packs

 

August 4- Hitting the wall

Washitonian Center Lake

“Hitting The Wall” is defined by Segen’s Medical dictionary as, “The depletion of glycogen stores in the liver and muscles, which manifests itself by abrupt fatigue and loss of energy.” The Medical Dictionary for the Health Professions and Nursing defines it as, “A term athletes use to describe an abrupt decline in the ability to maintain the desired intensity of endurance exercise performance; associated with accumulation of blood lactate and depletion of liver and muscle glycogen reserves.”

I’ve heard the term used by serious runners and athletes far above my performance level. And yet tonight I sit here, typing in the dark, and use it myself. My wall doesn’t involve glycogen. It doesn’t involve excessive lactate, micro- tears in my muscles, or an imbalance of electrolytes. Instead, it involves the reality that my 42 year old body has presented me.  This does not bode well for content or quick wit, and after my attempted Monday work out my gentle self-deprecation has taken a much darker turn. Succinctly put, this will not be a warm fuzzy post.

And that’s a shame, because Monday’s workout took place at the Washitonian center in Gaithersburg, Maryland. The Washitonian is this fabulous complex of hotels, office buildings, an 18 screen movie theater, gym, shopping center and eateries. It is designed to be enjoyed on foot, and at its center is a man-made lake with a .8 mile trail surrounding it. Uncle Tony and I spend a lot of our time together here.  We shop, we eat, we go to movies. We take a walk, or in his case a roll, around outside.  We feed the fish and the ducks. We look for the hidden statues- every time it’s a new discovery for him.  This time we even rode the carousel.

At 10:00 I started my workout around the lake, 5 minutes of a brisk walk. I was already considering what I would write about. Reflections 1 and 2 were starting to form- the first about how nice it was to be in a place with such incredible racial and cultural diversity, the second was wondering about a potential correlation between obesity and the prevalence of sweet tea. In DC and Maryland I can just order “iced tea” and that’s what I get, not this syrupy substance that many people in the southern states seem to have a deep fondness of.

My brisk walk wasn’t feeling very brisk. My left knee was catching and popping. (This happens sometimes, especially to me. My knee has a history of issues dating back to 1986. I have been determined to ignore it this time.) My five minutes were up. Time to shift gears into a five minute walk/ jog. Every part of my body felt heavy. The past four days of restaurant meals were coming back to laugh at me. I didn’t know how much weight I had gained on this trip, but it felt like 20 pounds. There was a lot more walking than jogging. After that came interval drills. One minute running, followed by one minute of walking with the little voice in my phone telling me when to stop and start. Normally the first minute is a cake walk for me. I didn’t make it. I lasted 45 seconds before the burning pain in my muscles and the inability of my lungs to process air convinced my brain to slow me to a walk. After a minute walk, I tried again, and started stumbling after 20 seconds. So I walked. And as I walked I became filled with an impressive amount of self-loathing. My head dropped. I started looking at the ground instead of my surroundings. The cheery voice in my headset would encourage, “now RUN!” I extended a mental middle finger in her direction. It was all I could do to even start a second lap of walking around the lake, but I did.

When I finished trudging that miserable second lap my muscles were quivering, my knees looked like grapefruit, and I was in pain. I pride myself on being able to push through physical discomfort, and I failed miserably. I questioned the wisdom of this whole fitness thing.  Maybe I’m too far gone to get where I want to be.

And then, to top it all off, the car wouldn’t start. I was grateful to AAA even if I did have to wait 90 minutes.

So where am I now? Behind on my gym work outs, no intention of running tonight and in truth, I’m more likely to go to sleep than anything else right now. I say this not to garner your sympathy or pity, which would frankly just make me feel even weaker. I’ve been stuck in the same spot in my training for two weeks now. I was really hoping to break through the wall. Instead, it feels like the wall is crushing me.

However, I have a feeling you will hear from me again next week. This blog has made me feel nothing if not accountable. That, and I can’t stop training for my two 5K’s scheduled for October. Just have to figure out how to get over this wall.

August 2- Special Edition from Washington D.C.

Usually I only subject you, fair readers, to one post a week.  However, since I’m both traveling and “running” I will share my new and exciting observations with you.   Running in a new place has all sorts of challenges, including the first- where to go.

 My aunt’s apartment is a few blocks from American University. I decided to run in the opposite direction, because there are a lot of fit and healthy people in this part of D.C.  I didn’t want to get smoked by some co-ed on a leisurely jog while I’m doing my high speed one minute runs.  Let’s face it.  My high speed is the same as most runner’s cool-down pace.

Next question was uphill or downhill. I chose to start heading uphill, so that by the time I was coming back I would have an easier go to things.  That put me on Tunlaw St. which was all well and good, but right as I was ending my warm up, the street changed, and I was headed downhill.  How long can one downhill last?  I do have to admit, running downhill for the appropriate amount of time was easy, fast, and dare I say almost exhilarating.   D.C. does have some narrow sidewalks compared to the ones in Charleston and they have a very unique feature.  They are smooth and level.  No odd pieces sticking up in random places, easy transitions into crosswalks where smiling drivers stop, make eye contact, smile, and motion you through. I looked mostly off to my right at cute and extremely expensive little homes and apartment buildings.  In the grass strips next to the sidewalks there were wildflowers growing.  This is awesome!  I’m flying like the wind! 

Before I knew it, it was time to go back.  So I crossed the street and looked up.  By “up” I really mean uphill, which I will kindly refer to as difficult, tedious, and I can definitely say painful.  The thought bubble above my head at the time was far more profane than this “G” rated post will allow.  It was somewhat surreal and entirely appropriate jogging (and walking) past the huge Russian Embassy Compound with its Very Tall Scary Looking Walls topped with coils of razor wire and surveillance cameras. 

I did get two blocks of downhill to jog to end the session.  I really did feel pretty good about my workout.  The doorman opened the lobby door for me and I crossed the polished granite floors to the elevators past a cluster of blue-hairs who seem to be indigenous to this building. (I don’t believe a single Gen Xer lives anywhere in this 14 story monstrosity.  We couldn’t afford the regime fees.  I digress.)  “That person looks exhausted.” There was motioning in my direction.  Exhausted?  Gender neutral reference?  Heck, for the first time since I’ve started working out this summer I actually felt pretty darn good.  The temperature was mild, humidity was negligible.  Really makes me wonder what I look like the rest of the time…  

Stay tuned for Monday night’s edition where I will be taking on the lake trail at the Washitonian in Rockville, MD.