View from a Treadmill

Several years ago, when I was training for a half-marathon, I hated the treadmill. Hated it. I was a treadmill snob: "I run outdoors, thanks. The view is better." The treadmill was only to be used as a back-up plan, the emergency indoor workout when outside was too wet, too thunderstorm-y, too icy, or during summer when there was no way I was getting up at 4 am to run in the cooler, 80-degree pre-dawn. Nope. Treadmills were B-O-R-I-N-G.

Well, here I am now, quite a bit fatter and in terrible, terrible shape, and now, guess what? The treadmill is my friend. True, the view isn't as spectacular as running outside - you don't get the vast expanse of blue skies with puffy white clouds, you don't have tall rustling trees and birdsong, there are no curious horses pricking up their ears as you come huffing over a hill.  You may not get these things, but what you get that I am Eternally Grateful for is this: Air conditioned comfort and a machine that keeps track of the time and calories. It's just what I need, for now.  

Here are some views - and observations - from the treadmill.

Ellipticals and the gym entry. Also, the cardiac rehab center is just over there. And if anything is going to make me feel like more of a schlub, it's those folks over there in cardiac rehab. They have actual, verifiable heart conditions. I have an eating condition and a laziness condition. Seriously.

The weight machines. You can't really tell what the lady in the yellow looks like because, duh, I was on a treadmill attempting to take pictures around me - but the lady in yellow is my new hero. She is about five-foot-nothing and bristling with muscles. I watched her on the fly machine - she put on 5 stacks of weights. FIVE. Dang. I am totally intimidated and totally inspired: I want to Be. Her.

The fitness class area. Right now they're doing Bodypump. If I weren't on the treadmill I'd be in that room. I hate the exercise they're doing right now; you have to use bands and get them on just the right way and do these killer lunges. It's hard to keep your balance AND keep the bands from whipping off and snapping your legs. Fun times. 

Since I am apparently unable to run (eh, jog - sllllooooowwwwwly) for more than five minutes at a time, I am doing this C25K program (Couch To 5K - that's cute, right, the acronym?) which involves mostly walking with some intermittent jogging. Hence, the treadmill. I do this 3 times a week. The other 3 days I do something low-impact - like Bodypump or a water aerobics class. 

After the treadmill I do the elliptical. 

My attempt to remain hidden behind rows of people on the ellipticals is foiled when all the other people LEAVE. That means, the nursery - right there! Clear glass! - has a direct view out onto the gym. Luckily the windows aren't full-length. If they were my little grandson would've seen me, and then it's Goodbye machine, hello screaming baby.

 While on the elliptical I could hear the occasional screech from the nursery. I know this screech quite well. It's my grandson's happy screech of joy. Hooray for a new place with new toys to play with!  Just wish the baby could be happy without the random, piercing, parrot-like screeches.

I Just Paid for the Spartan. Now what?

Remember when you were a kid, and your friends dared you to jump off the high dive at the pool? And you finally agreed, and you went out there in the chlorinated air and climbed that aluminum ladder, all those bathing-suited kids above you, everyone dripping, and you got to the top - white diving board, blue sky, hot sun on your back - and you went to the end of that diving board, and you could see how deep and blue the roped-off water looked so far below you, but then you just closed your eyes and cannon-balled it?  

I don't think this is exactly like that. But in a way it's similar. Jumping into a chlorinated pool from 10 feet above the water while a lifeguard watches is not normally a death-defying experience (even if it feels that way to your 8-year-old self). Sitting here in the comfort of my home, signing up for the Spartan doesn't feel like it's death-defying either, until you read all the disclaimers - Warning! YOU MIGHT DIE!!! Warning! You might drown! Warning! You could suffer animal bites! Lose layers of skin! Break one or several bones! Get mowed down by large moving vehicles! Collapse from a heart attack! YOU REALLY REALLY MIGHT DIE! But since you might die, and we are telling you YOU PROBABLY WILL, you agree to not sue us, ever, forever, no matter what. Good luck!!!

Worst. Idea. EVER. I don't even know why I'm doing this anymore, except that I need motivation to go to the gym. 

And that's how you look certain death in the eye, my friend! With absolute, unyielding, boundless self-doubt and terror. 

What can I say, that's just how I roll. 

Here's one of the founders of the Spartan race. 

It's a nice video. 

There isn't any death in this video, Thank God!
 

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.

 

Zero to Spartan in less than a year....yeah, that's do-able, right?

 Hooray! You're looking at my blog! How'd you get here, are you a friend? Then, please, let me apologize in advance. I'm not a great writer. I'm not a great athlete. I'm probably really not great at anything aside from spelling. (SPELLING. That's a super-valuable skill nowadays, isn't it? I mean, who really uses spellcheck...) So if you're my friend, and you're looking at this blog, I apologize that you got roped in to reading this crap. Seriously. You should probably go watch "Biggest Loser," it's bound to be more entertaining, and besides, at least you know right at the beginning that people will actually be losing weight, and getting in shape, which is all somehow satisfying in a story-book kind of way: you know that the contestants will face obstacles, but most, if not all, of them will struggle through to lose massive amounts of weight. And they will be able to run a marathon by the end of the show. Sadly, unlike a season of "The Biggest Loser," I cannot make any kind of promise that I will lose weight, even if I do somehow get into marginally better shape than I'm in right now. And, come to think of it, I cannot promise I will actually finish the Spartan. So if you're looking for a surefire feel-good story, this probably isn't the blog for you. 

If you don't know me, then I am really, really sorry you are here. Who coerced you into reading this?....oh, wait, maybe it's an office pool or something like that?....you're waiting to see the train wreck? I understand. You may quite possibly see a spectacular train wreck. On the other hand, I cannot promise you massive public shame, humiliation and failure. It's possible that I might indeed complete this journey; I may, in all honesty, lose a lot of weight AND finish the Spartan race. So if you are here, popcorn in hand, gleefully expecting epic failure, I'm sorry to say you may not get that. 

If you are my family....good heavens, you have to live with me or else you have to see me at Christmas, isn't that enough? Surely you have better things to do. I'm related to mathematicians, doctors, PhD's, business owners...surely you ought to spend your precious time coming up with a formula for the Theory of Everything, or you've got murderous crimes to solve, or students to teach (even peripherally), or businesses to run....Please, you have more important matters to attend to. (Hey, yeah, I know I ended that sentence on a split infinitive. Deal with it. It's my blog, don't get all English-y up in my grill. I might just take my gift back this Christmas.)

Why the Spartan? I don't know, honestly. A couple of my church friends did it, and I was jealous and insecure, and I said, "I'll do it with you next year!" because I want them to like me and because I imagine that possibly there might be some kind of moral support forthcoming from that impulsive declaration.  Also, I know I need a goal in order for me to bother getting up off the sofa and to stop eating barbecue potato chips. I need purpose. Definition. An outside force. Something, anything, to get me back into shape. 

Because I was in shape a couple years ago. I was, in fact, training to run a half-marathon. I was really looking forward to this event. I was going to run with my dad, who is super-fit, and of course he's my dad so I really, really want his approval, and what better way than to run 13 miles with him? He really digs exercising. More than anyone else I know. Maybe more than Jilliene Michaels. (Supposedly she hates exercising. But I guess she's super-motivated to look a certain way, i.e., thin and gorgeous, so that's enough motivation for her to work out. Whatevs. My dad could kick her butt. Not that that's saying much, but, well, it kind of is. And my dad is REALLY OLD compared to Jilliene. So that makes it more impressive, right? ) 

Anyway, I was training for this half-marathon - really training, not sitting on my sofa theoretically thinking about maybe possibly going for a run; no, I really was running. Quite a bit. I would go for a short, 4-mile run most days. Then about every ten days or so, a longer run. My longest run? Sixteen miles. That's right. SIXTEEN. Count 'em. Yep, I ran sixteen miles once. (On a treadmill. Don't judge. My longest street run was ten miles.) It was right about this time that I took a week off for the holidays, and that week turned into two weeks, and then I realized this was a bad trend, so I decided to go for a short, four-mile run one day. And that's when it happened.

Right down the road from me - where the road takes this perilous 90-degree turn - my knee started to hurt.

No big deal, I thought. I'll push through the pain.

Ha. Ha. Ha. In about 30 feet I was limping like a horse that is about to get "put down" with a shotgun. About 10 feet beyond that, I about fell over from the pain. However, figuring that getting run over with an actual moving vehicle would be slightly worse than a throbbing knee, I managed to stand up and careen over to the side of the road. For a few minutes, I considered, then rejected, the possibility of calling a taxi. Or maybe an ambulance. 

Ultimately I rejected both of these ideas, and managed to limp / drag my foot pathetically behind me like a zombie, home. 

Then I spent the next five years pouting. Because, you see, I liked running. It was fun. Nothing else was fun. I didn't have a reason to go work out. Oh, sure, I tried to "keep up my physical fitness" by going to the gym, but that made me want to stab my eyes out. What was the point? Why sweat on a machine, staring into outer space / at other, more fit people on their machines / the wall? I couldn't even watch anything on the TV screen, it just bored me SO much. 

I tried classes, too, but you know how it is when you can't dance, you can't keep up with everyone else, you can't get the moves down...it's just sad. I couldn't do that anymore either. 

Working out at home? No, not so much. My kids were small and thought that "home workout" meant "time to join in and laugh a lot," which I, very maturely, interpreted as "making fun of Mom," and I just couldn't do the home workouts anymore, either. Even if they were just kids being silly I felt like a complete idiot dressed in Spandex and jumping around in my postage stamp-sized living room.

Eventually, all that pity and loathing pointed inward turned into me mostly sitting on a sofa all day, periodically eating potato chips or cake (possibly a whole cake, once, but I can neither confirm nor deny). Shockingly enough, pouting does not burn very many calories. I know, right! How can this be? Especially when one puts so much effort into pouting. Such elaborate face-saving stories that are told to justify the pouting. Such sighing to be had, when certain very kind-hearted people would try to solve my problem (of basically un-gluing my rear end from the reclining chair). You would really think the calorie investment would be greater. 

Alas, it is not. Pouting will not make one physically fit. Neither will sitting around and thinking about how nice it would be to join a gym, throw around some weights, and maybe eventually heal the bad knee. This I have learned.  

Which brings me to....today. At the gym. Impossibly, I was at some kind of weight-lifting class (low weight, high reps) and I found myself looking the instructor in the eyes and saying "I plan on competing in the Spartan race next year." Yes, I said that. Yes, she's a weight-lifting instructor. Yes, it seems I have finally, completely, yet not unexpectedly, lost my mind. But I said it. And I meant it.

It would be great storytelling if, at this point, I either finished on a high note: I'm stronger than I thought I was! or, better yet: I tried valiantly but after wallowing in a pool of sweat and vomit only five minutes in, I gave up. Neither of these things happened. I'm about as shapeless as I thought I was, and I could barely keep up even with the lightest baby weights (you want to know how light? Try one-pound weights on either end of the almost hollow, nearly-weightless barbell. That would be TWO POUNDS. That's right. TWO. Deux. Dos). 

About ten minutes into the class I knew I would be suffering tomorrow from horrible soreness, and since I'm such a wimp I immediately made a plan to track down some young, chiseled trainer to find me a recovery drink. God in His Eternal Mercy provided me a smoothie bar wherein one may order a smoothie, with a shot of L-Glutamine. If you've never heard of L-Glutamine, and you work out...what are you, some kind of masochistic pain freak? Please. There's no need for that kind of misery. (Unless you like that kind of misery. But that's a whole 'nother thing, and that's not what this blog is about.) L-Glutamine is a magical amino acid that helps you feel less sore after working out. In all honesty, L-Glutamine is the only reason I will push it, even a little bit, in a workout. If there were no L-Glutamine, it would take me approximately 137 years to work up to the kind of 30-minute "Chair Yoga" session usually reserved for the silver-haired crowd. Seriously: L-Glutamine is The Bomb!

Which brings me to now. Here I am, contemplating the sheer lunacy of telling EVERYONE IN THE WORLD that I plan to run in the Spartan next year. 

And it seems like a story that should be told. That I need to tell, if for no other reason than to learn to loosen up and laugh at myself. But maybe, the real reason is this: I need to have a goal. And the deeper reason might possibly be: I need to do something outrageous. 


Postscript: I DID NOT read this blog before making my big (dumb) decision. It just so happened this guy wrote this blog entry and it's on the Spartan site tonight. I like to think it's God's Way of Telling Me I'm Right To Do This. 

http://blog.spartanrace.com/note-to-self-remember-to-train/ 
                                                          

Going under barbed wire, through mud.

Running through fire. Yes - FIRE.

Pre-Christmas Blues

So, here we are, Dec. 23rd - Christmas Eve, eve. 

I haven't posted for a few days because a windstorm came through this past week and after that the internet wasn't working.  Ultimately, it turned out something had gotten disconnected under the computer desk. Who knew? I mean, I was the one who had to go under the desk and mess with all the wires, while husband and tech support guy - both on the phone - directed what to plug in or un-plug.  I just know I left everything plugged back in....but lo and behold, that night, hubby comes home and immediately locates the un-plugged wire.  Internet restored! And, my family's unspoken acknowlegment of a certain person's air-headedness remains intact! Normalcy returned.

Anyway - Working out and going to the gym HAVE been happening on a regular basis, I'm pleased to report.  Additionally, Bible reading has ALSO been occuring, usually in the morning, on a regular basis.  Yay for both!!!

Food intake.....still needs some work.  But it's coming along.  My allergies kicked into high gear with the phenomenal winds (you know, the same winds that knocked out the internet?) and as a result, I've had to take a lot of Sudafed to keep the sinuses somewhat unclogged.  The upside to Sudafed?  Apparently, now, it kills my appetite. This has never been the case for me before. Why it does now, I couldn't say. But I'll take it.  The downside to Sudafed is being awake for much more of the night than I would want. That's not the worst thing in the world, but it sure does take the wind out of my sails the next day. 

So, food today:

a pear
several Cadbury cookies
minestrone soup
1 1/2 bread rolls
1/3 Canneloni
a "light" chocolate bar
quite a few chocolate-coated pretzels, vanilla-coated pretzels, and something SUPER yummy that seems to be Chex coated in sweet yumminess that my daughter said is "puppy chow" like a friend of ours at the old church used to make

No, not my best food day ever.  I think I'll have a glass of wine. Or a Colorado Bulldog.

Road Signs

Day Two - the good news!  Woke up at 7 am but did not read my Bible; instead, hubby and I went for a 1-mile walk. It was a chilly but really beautiful morning.  Great way to start the day. 

Later I went to the gym and spent 30 minutes on the Nordic machine.  So, that's good! 

But, I did weigh in.  The bad news: 171 lbs.  The most I have *ever* weighed in my life.  The good news?  I'm still in pretty good overall health, and despite a gripey knee, I'm able to work out.

What I ate today: 

2/3 of a medium non-fat Caramel Macchiato
a 32-oz mixed berry protein shake
1 Oreo cookie (Not twelve! Not ten! ONE!!!)
one red pear
the tops of 2 cupcakes (Not three! Not ALL the rest of the cupcakes! This is an improvement, people!!!
1/4 serving of Gardettos
5 chocolate animal crackers
10 baby carrots
1/2 C mac-n-cheese
7 Li'l Smokies sausages
1/2 can Green Beans

Probably got at least 5 servings of fruits/veggies today - that protein shake had a LOT of berries - but, I got too many carbs in the snacks & treats.  Also high fat content in the frosting & in the mac-n-cheese with sausages.