Faster than a Galapagos Tortoise

 

The great thing about technology is this: With just a few clicks, I can find out interesting facts about the Galapagos Tortoise, which I knew was a slow-moving creature, but until today I had no idea just. how. slow. that could be. 

Did you know it would take over six hours for a Galapagos Tortoise to go one mile? For real. I'm assuming that it would take a fair amount of motivation, as well. Food perhaps, or an especially sexy Tortoise of the opposite gender to wink knowingly and urge the poor beast along.

Hormonal tortoises aside, did you know it didn't take me six hours to go one mile today? I'm almost as surprised as you are. In fact, I covered just over one and a half miles in 30 minutes today. Hey, I can't help it if I'm setting land-speed records....for tree sloths...

I'm actually super happy I got to run today!  (Ahem. I suppose I'm using the term "run" loosely, as noted by the aforementioned distance and time.) So at this pace, I will be able to cover an 8 mile hellish obstacle course after approximately 67 years of training.

Seems legit.

Here are the treadmills at my gym, looking all pretty and bright underneath the skylight:

                                                                        

Here's my treadmill. I didn't get a shot of me while using it because, duh, I can't jog and take my picture at the same time.

That's my drink! (You care.)

Annnnnd...voilà, la pièce de résistance (which is a fancy French way of saying "This is the cool part"): My mileage. Isn't technology awesome? The machine tells important things like how much ground I would have covered, had I been on the ground (and not on a, let's face it, slightly easier smooth surface with a moving track to keep me going), and it tells me how many calories I burned. Today it shows that I went over a mile and a half! Most of which was accomplished by actual running. Well, maybe half of which. Okay, not quite half, probably just under half. Possibly a third. But it was running. Okay, it was jogging. Almost speedwalking but not quite. It was definitely a jog, even if it was slow.

Jogging happened here today! Well, something happened.

At least it wasn't Galapagos Tortoise slow.

 

Victory and Defeat in the Time of 60 minutes

Didn't do a class today at the gym, instead went on my own with the surreptitious plan of trying a bit of a jog on the treadmill. Surreptitious, as in, I was going to try to sneak it in on the body before the knee could figure out what was going on and put an end to it. 

First, 30 minutes on the Nordic track machine: 

 

Music: Interpol, "Say Hello to the Angels" - Killers, "Sam's Town" (not the crappy acoustic version either!) - NIN, "Head Like A Hole" - Pink Floyd, "Run Like Hell" and AC/DC "Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap)"

After all good and worked out on this machine, I figured it was time. 

Time to get back on a treadmill. Time to take the knee out for a little jog.

I should've taken a picture of how pretty that treadmill looked, bathed in soft white light from the skylight above. I grinned to myself as I got on the machine and started it up. 

After a slow start, I punched it up to a whopping 4.5 mph. Found out the knee is most definitely NOT down with that plan. Slowed down, increased the incline. For the remainder of the workout I kept messing with incline and speed, to make it just challenging enough that I was actually working out and not just lollygagging along at a useless staring-at-the-art-in-a-museum pace. 

Towards the end of my 30 minutes, I had this great idea: I would sneak up the speed little by little, till a slow jog would be achieved.  

Hooray! This seems to have worked! My new theory now is that the knee has to be gently cajoled into a jog, and the slower the transition, the better.

So, imagine me, smiling like a fool, this huge triumphant grin on my face as I am jogging along at a positively glacial pace, when all of a sudden the machine stops. Out of the blue. How did this happen? Not smiling anymore. Stupid machine. What in the world?....

And I see it. I see it. The stupid thing that keeps the treadmill on. Most treadmills I've dealt with have a sort of key you insert into a slot, and that's what keeps it on. But noooo, not this one. This treadmill - apparently all of them at the gym - have instead a ridiculous little bobbly thing with a magnet on it that sticks onto this shallow indention. That's what keeps the machine on. It looks like a little Pokemon ball. Apparently I swiped that thing by accident - must've been while I was raising my arms in victory, like a runner completing a marathon - and that's what turned my machine off.

I was just a tad bit miffed at that point. I slapped the stupid machine with my towel, then went to ask the manager if the lost information could be retrieved. Because, you see, clearly the most important thing is not the workout, but that I can take a picture of the readout afterward. Alas, the manager told me what I already had guessed: that you can't get the information back once it's been turned off. 

Man.

But hey! I got to jog a little! That was kind of awesome.

 

Workouts this week / 336 days till the Spartan!

Chatty description coming up, after family obligations. Briefly: good news, I worked out! Bad news, I'm still fat.

...Okay, here's the wordiness.

The two pix below are snapshots I took of the screen on the treadmill stairclimber Nordictrack whatever that machine is at the gym, where you get on it and you do this sort of gliding motion with your feet, while at the same time you busily push on this lever-like thing with your hands. Whatever that thing is - it's okay for the knees, apparently, since my knee doesn't really complain on that machine. So, two workouts on that machine. (Not in one day.)

 

Now, what you can't see here are the classes I took at the gym this past week. One class has you throwing weights around. Shamefully, I could only deal with, like, zero weight to begin with. I mean, I did at least have the weight-less bar to push around like some sort of loony-bin escapee ("Why, yes, there are weights on this bar, don't you see them?....No, I haven't heard from Commander Zog today, but I'm sure the Martian invasion is still on.") Luckily, after a couple sessions of this class, my body started to catch on to the fact that, yes, we do even lift, bro! and so I added some weights to the bar. Hardly much of anything, but more than zero. I should've taken a picture: those tiny, bitty 2-kg weights on the bar looked super dumb! Mice could lift more. Dwarf mice. Dwarf mice with a debilitating muscle disease! Thankfully, God In His Infinite Mercy allowed my body to graduate to 5-kg weights. They look bigger on the bar, and yes, they're heavier. Most importantly those bigger weights make me look like less of a blubbery wimp.

The other class I took was some type of Core / Cross-Fit class. It's where you slave away to lift various parts of your body into various contorted positions for miserably long amounts of time, while the teacher cheerfully bellows at you to keep your "Elbows In!" or "Just TEN MORE!" or some other tyrannical nonsense, that all just means she is secretly trying to kill you through floor exercises. I think I'll try this class again. I didn't actually die, although I wanted to; and it does seem like a good way to maybe someday eventually get into halfway better shape than I'm currently in. Most importantly I suspect the teacher's verbal abuse is similar to the kind that gets dished out at the Spartan race. Might as well get used to that now.

Now, here is a picture of me, today, not at the gym. I just finished 1 mile:

Much to my continued chagrin, I was not, in fact, able to run even part of that mile. I could not even muster up a ridiculously slow jog. No, that was not possible today. Was it the knee? you may ask sympathetically. Yes, it was the knee, a little bit. More than that, there was some kind of leg/hip pain that didn't want to go away. I'm sure it was a hip flexor complaining about over-use, since it was so badly abused in that evil Core training class yesterday...but since that particular leg is the one attached to the wonky knee, I figured it best not to push it. I did keep trying, hopefully, to trot around just a bit; alas, every single attempt was met with a sharp shooting pain and a tiny little hip flexor sigh of exasperation. So I walked. Then about a third of the way into my walking mile, the knee did start to feel slightly uncomfortable. Which meant it would be good simply to finish a one-mile walk without destroying any currently functioning joint or muscle in my body. So, no jogging for me today. A couple of barking dogs, yes, but no jogging.

And finally, we have this:

 

 Dearest darling hubby, the light of my life, my best friend and soul mate, has recently brought it to my attention that I may not be as young as I used to be, once, a long time ago; and in fact, it might be a good idea to take anti-inflammatories after a workout. 

Oh, the humiliation. Not only am I fat and out of shape, I'm taking Motrin just to keep moving.

But it's all good, in the end. So what if I have to take NSAIDS after a workout? At this stage, it's good that my butt isn't velcroed in to the sofa. If it takes some Motrin after a workout to deal with the pain, at least I'm working out. And I don't think I'll do this every time. Mostly, just after an intense workout, or after working out some part of my body I never knew existed until then.

Just 336 Days until the race!