Pushing It

Sometimes, the universe is unrelenting in its efforts to drive a point home. A message or a sign, faint at first, gets repeated and repeated and repeated, thrumming in your head like an inescapable pulse. You can ignore it, sure, if you try. But not for long. Eventually it breaks through.

Since my yoga class last week, and my realization at the sushi case, my message has been playing in a loop, with the volume increasing at every repetition:

I am strong, I can do anything, and the only real obstacles in my life are the ones I create myself, in my head.

I heard it loud, so loud tonight. Smith came over to work out with me. He'd called on his way to let me know that we were going to be doing stuff outside. Greaaaat, I thought. I just love exercising outdoors. I tweeted about it, of course, making the comment that I feel fatter outside than I do anywhere else. It's weird, I know, but it's true. Working out outside makes me feel super vulnerable, self-conscious, and insecure. (This is why my treadmill is my best friend.)

Anyhow, it turned out to be not as bad as I'd feared. Some goofy high-stepping, burpee thingies, and stretching. Then back inside, where I did standing squats (which Smith assures me will give me the butt I've lacked my whole life). After that? You guessed it...running.

Now, I've been running a little bit on my own. Or, I thought it was running. Chuffing away on the tready, one foot in front of the other, getting sweaty and all that business. Oh no, friend. No, no, noooooooo. Smith proved to me beyond any reasonable doubt that what I've been doing is NOT running. What I've been doing is (shocker!) being lazy, and not pushing myself anywhere near my limit. So what did ol' Smithypants do? He (shocker number two!) pushed me.

When I run on my own, the fastest pace I usually hit is about 4.2 mph -- maybe 4.4 if I'm feeling feisty. Tonight, I maxed out at over 5 mph. Granted, it was not a continuous run at that pace; Smith had me doing intervals. Over the course of two miles, he kept alternating, fast and slow, fast and slow, increasing the "fast" pace every time.

It was during one of the fast intervals, the fastest one of the workout, I think, that my message came through again. I saw Smith's finger on the button, that horrible, horrible up-arrow that increases the speed of the tready, and my immediate reaction was to think "CRAAAAAAP! I CAN'T GO ANY FASTER!"

And then it happened. Those words fell away, and I felt my body do something I've never really noticed before. Somehow, some way, through some weird tightening of muscles and relaxing of breath, it told my brain to shut up. I felt my feet kick up a little higher, my arms (of which I'm hyper-aware when I run, simply because I don't want to look goofy) fell into a nice rhythm, my stride lengthened a little bit, and I felt this sort of bounce in my step. It was hard, and my breathing was strained, complete with knives in the diaphragm and that goose-honkish panting that no one should have to hear. But I was doing it. Running. FOR REALS. Smith even told me I was making it look easy (what the WHAT?!) and gave me a coveted high five. To put that into perspective for you: high fives from Smith are harder to score than an Hermès Birkin bag.

Once again, I got the message that all these stupid obstacles, all these lies I tell myself about what I can and can't do, they're all in my head. I'm strong. I can make my body do whatever I want it to. I can. I can. I CAN.

I ended up doing over two miles in under 40 minutes. I was soaked in sweat, bright red at the end, and climbing up the stairs to shower required Herculean effort. AND I LOVED EVERY MINUTE OF IT.

I'm feeling beyond amazing right now. My body isn't where I want it to be yet, for sure, but all these moments that keep happening give me so much hope. I feel so good. I feel strong. I feel happy, and proud, and peaceful, and excited, all at the same time.

Holding Pattern

Yes, my knee still hurts, but not badly enough to stop me from running. So what's stopping me?

Honestly, I am just really, really, REALLY goddang tired. This has hit me out of the blue. I almost feel like I'm getting a cold, but it never comes. I'm still keeping my food under control (for the most part) but I've been listening to my body and sleeping when it demands.

This isn't the kind of sleeping that shows up when I get really depressed -- you know, where I crawl into bed and don't come out for three days? I mean, I CAN'T sleep like that, I have a job and house and a kid, for Pete's sake, but even if I could, that's not what I want to do. I'm staying active almost all day, but when I crawl into bed at night, sleep comes so quickly that I don't even have time to take my glasses off.

Maybe I really am getting sick? Dunno. Maybe weeks of all kinds of activity (holiday and otherwise) have caught up with me? Dunno. What I do know is that, as per usual, I'm just going to go with the flow. 'Cause quite frankly, I'm too tired to fight it.

Wet-Shoe Shuffle

I did my first 5K yesterday. Holy SHIIIIIIIIIIIT!

When I woke up, it was freezing cold, wet, raining, the works. Imagine the worst possible running weather, and this was pretty much it. Part of me started screaming, "You're NOT doing this, not in this weather! No way! Stay home and warm and dry with your boys!"

So I texted my pal Peggy, the fantastic friend who encouraged me to sign up in the first place, and asked if we were really going to do this today. She of course said, "Yep!" (Peggy is a comittment-aholic, she never gives up on ANYTHING!) She told me she wouldn't be upset if I didn't want to run. But I said, "Nope, I'm going to be there. I'm doing it."

We met up at Webb Center and got our numbers and time chips, and had plenty of time left to sit and chat before the race. I had some butterflies, but I thought, "The hard part's over -- you showed up!"

When we lined up for the start, we went to the back of the pack. We sized up our fellow runners -- pregnant chick, lots of teenagers, several people with baby joggers, and one lady who looked like she was about 100 years old. I told Peg that we had to at least finish ahead of the pregnant chick. Peg reminded me that it didn't matter, that all we had to do was finish, and that she was going to be right there with me the whole time (HELLO, THANKS FOR MAKING ME WANT TO CRY, FRIEND!).

I started out pretty strong, despite the fact that my knee was still killing me (more on that later). I'd guess we ran about a quarter mile before I really needed to slow down for a bit. And that's how we did the whole run -- jogged a bit, walked a bit. I can't believe how much fun we had. Peg sang ridiculous songs (she had her MP3 player going, I'd forgotten mine) like "I Like Big Butts" and "Lunchlady Land." She pointed out that I was laughing and talking...WHILE RUNNING. She stuck with me the whole way, even when there was a crazy guy standing in the middle of the sidewalk giving a vocal performance that sounded like a drowning Siamese cat.

We finished together in about 50 minutes. Not super speedy, but I think it's a respectable time. I wanted to finish, and to finish in under an hour, and I did both. Yay! We didn't beat the pregnant chick, or the grandma, or the folks with baby joggers, but we FINISHED.

After the race we were both cold, wet, and tired. Peg headed to Starbucks, and I headed home, where I promptly fell dead asleep while snuggled up with the Kid.

This morning, I feel really accomplished. Running in public is one of my silly phobias, and I overcame it (albeit briefly) to run in full view of an entire college campus and a major roadway, as well as about 100 "real" runners. It's given me a good kick in the pants, and a good boost to how I'm feeling about myself. I'm getting back in the swing of things, and I want to tackle another 5K in the spring.

In less super-yay news, my knee is getting really, really bad. It's a hard feeling to describe, but essentially it feels like there's a piece of something crunchy wedged between my patella (knee cap) and my tibia (leg bone). When I walk or run uphill, there's a loud popping noise. When I run at all, I feel a sharp stabby feeling at the site of the crunchy bit (wow, check out THAT medical terminology). I think I may have to head to the doc before long and get it checked out. I'm dreading the thought of possibly needing knee surgery, but if that's what I have to do, then I'll do it. Right now, though, I'm just pushing forward as best I can.

The Fear

I tried changing up my run this morning (yes, I'm already done at 3:50AM). Instead of running a whole 1.25/1.5 miles, I started with five minutes of walking. Then I ran half a mile, then walked a quarter mile, then ran another half mile. I was going to walk another quarter and finish with a half, but I had to stop. Why? Because I started hyperventilating. Argh!

This hasn't happened since my panic attack on the track (hey, that rhymes!). This time, I totally felt it coming, but I couldn't stop it. I started to feel a little weirdness in my ribs on the right side, and before I knew it, I couldn't breathe (or at least that's what it felt like). It's hard to explain the feeling...it's almost like that feeling you get right before you cough, where you can't quite get the air all the way down into the bottom of your lung.

So the next question is, why did this happen? What was I thinking about when it happened? Oh yeah...the 5k. And how I'm nervous about running in public, running outside, running so slowly that the guy in the golf cart will have to haul me to the finish. Stupid, irrational, ridiculous, overblown fears. Excuses waiting to happen.

Today I'm going to be thinking about what I'm really afraid of, and when I run tomorrow, I'm NOT going to hyperventilate again. DO YOU HEAR ME, LUNGS? DO YOU HEAR ME, BRAIN? Y'all are going to cut the shit, and we're going to do this.

231.2

Damn you, Halloween!

Also -- a weekend of junking does not make for a good Monday morning run. I still did it, though.

Night & Day

I didn't get much rest last night, so I decided to sleep in rather than bust out a run before work. ("Sleeping in" means getting up at four instead of three, so don't get too jealous.) What a farking mistake THAT was. I have felt like 100% ass all morning. No energy, no focus, no oomph! at all. It sucks. So, lesson learned there. Even if I think I'll be tired, I'm going to run anyway. If this is how it feels not to run, by God, BRING ON THE RUNNING.

I talked to Smith about it when he called to check in today. During the course of our conversation, he told me he wasn't happy about me signing up for that 5K. He had planned to sneak me into a longer run without me knowing it, like "Hey, let's go for a jog!" and then telling me "You know you just ran three miles?" when we were done. I feel kind of bad. I see what the point is to doing it his way -- no pressure, and a big confidence boost. I'm still doing the 5K, though. It's a good goal for me, I think, and it has lit a bit of a fire under my heiny. Oh well. I'm sure he still has lots of other wonderful surprises in store for me. And by wonderful, I mean painful and possibly barf-inducing.

Spark!

I was looking for a good calorie counter/exercise tracking app for my Blackberry yesterday. When I discovered that Lose It (the one I really wanted) is only available for the iPhone, I was a little disappointed. But then I stumbled onto SparkPeople.com. My friend Luce had told me about this site a while ago, and I'd completely forgotten about it. Well, they have all the trackers I need, and more.

One of the cool things about this site is that they help you set specific goals, something I really suck at (just ask Smith). I tend to be very vague and/or overambitious. I think it's easier to quit if you're not specific. The things I'm focusing on this week are water consumption (I've been slacking), exercise, and tracking my calories. I think this will be a good compliment to what I'm already doing with Smith.

Smith is out of town this week, which is kind of a bummer. I've gotten back on track with my running after that month of inactivity, and I was looking forward to starting with weights this week. Of course, there's a good chance he'll read this, and I'll get a text message saying something like "Aww, you miss me? ADD A HALF MILE TO YOUR RUN."

Speaking of running...I took a big leap yesterday and signed up for my very first 5K run. My dear darling Peggy talked me into it, and this post from Sundry, one of my favorite bloggers ever, was extremely inspirational. I do need to take on something ass-kicking, something I think is impossible. I need a goal, and a deadline.

So, on December 5th, I'll be doing my truffle shuffle around the local university campus. Hopefully I don't die. Or barf. But if I do, at least it'll be for a good cause!

Doable

I have learned a very important lesson:

DO NOT BE A SMARTASS WITH YOUR TRAINER.

Smith called last night to set up a a time to train together this coming Saturday. In the course of the conversation, I told him that his wife (a friend of mine) told me he thought I was "cheating" by eating a banana for breakfast instead of what I serve the Hubs (bacon and eggs). "I'm NOT cheating!" I insisted.

He seems to think I've completely revamped my eating habits (something he specifically told me NOT to do) and that I'm "fighting dirty" by feeding Hubs more food than I eat. Not true -- I'm just not a big breakfast person. I got a little whiny with him, and tried to get off the phone by telling him I had to go do my second half-mile run for the day. "Oh? Well why don't you go ahead and add another quarter mile to that."

Blargh. But here's something amazing: I DID THE FREAKIN' THREE-QUARTERS OF A MILE. Not a big deal to the super-fit. To me? Huge deal. I ran all of it, no walking, no stopping, not even for the first tenth of a mile where I usually walk to warm up (I did a slow jog instead). And when I was done, it occurred to me for the first time that if I can run a mile, I can run three miles, and that's a 5K. Holy achievable goal, Batman!

Habit

This week's habit: Run a half mile, twice a day.

I started this on Sunday, and so far I've done it every day. Well, except for yesterday -- I let the day get away from me, and ended up trying to do both runs after dinner. It didn't go too well. I was tired, and my dinner was sloshing around in my stomach. Bleh! This morning's run wasn't too great either. I felt like there were big bricks where my calves should be. But I did it, I did my half mile.

Afterwards, while I was fixing breakfast for everybody, I got into a spat with the Hubs. I don't really even know why, but I do know that as I got more and more frustrated with him, all I wanted to do was go get back on the treadmill. I guess the whole "run it out" thing is starting to take hold.

Miles and Miles

I did my first run on Saturday morning. Smith was at our door at six, went through some stretches, and then put me on the treadmill. After doing a tenth of a mile walking briskly, I had to ramp up the speed and actually run (well, jog I guess...whatever...it's fucking running to me) for another four tenths of a mile. And campers, it was hard. I didn't think it'd be so hard. I didn't think my lungs would burn, or that I'd sweat, or that I'd tell Smith I felt like I was going to die (his response to that? "It's okay. I know CPR. KEEP GOING.").

What surprised me even more was that the feelings I'd stirred up the night before started bubbling away while I ran. I tried to block them out and stare at the mileage on the treadmill's display, but Smith caught me and covered it up. He made me think about my breathing, getting it in rhythm with my stride. It helped, both to keep me from passing out and to keep me from crying. He kept telling me, "Go to that place. Go where you need to go."

And I did.

It happened really fast, but for just a few moments, I knew what he meant. My feet were thudding away on the treadmill, and the thought came to me:

"I AM NOT A BAD PERSON."

Thud. Thud. Thud. Breathing. Again:

"I AM NOT A BAD PERSON."

Thud. Thud. Thud. Breathing.

For that thirty seconds or so, I got it. I understood, finally, that this was going to be my way to let it all go, all the bullshit, all the sadness, all those steamer trunks of garbage that I've been hauling around for years. I wanted to stop, and sob, and let it all out in an avalanche of feelings, but I didn't. I kept going, I finished my half-mile.

After the run, I was in the kitchen, coughing my brains out and slurping water. Smith heard me and said, "You knock some stuff loose there?"

Yep, I sure did. But not from my lungs.