Week 2: Electric Boogaloo.

This has been a rough week for kicking the running regimen up a notch.  I’ve been running at 6AM so far, and it’s brutal.  I was worried about going to 90s jogging/2min walking, but I think I would be doing very well for myself if it weren’t so hot and humid.

I know.  I could be in Philadelphia, New Delhi, Nairobi.  Just the same, I complain.

Today was harder than the other day because I didn’t give myself any encouragement until I noticed my arms were flailing as I plugged along.  I wonder if this is because I didn’t go out yesterday, as I’d originally planned.  I had been out too late Tuesday night to  think it right to wake up at 5:30 the nexust day.  

It’s okay!  I can run three times this week, anyway.

Just not tomorrow.  Saturday.  After dark.

Too hot to run today!

I’m waiting til 9PM.  Hopefully that will be long enough for the air to cool off.  

And hopefully I won’t be getting in the way of any drug deals at the ball park.

In the end, I went out.

My warm-up and cool-down walks were a bit longer than usual, as I looped an extra block around the thrift store.  I should just talk to him, but I think we all know how less-than-elegant we feel after a run.  I mean, even if you’re in shape, and you’ve got that imaginary runner’s high, and you have a nice glow from your daily 5k, you’re still sweating and panting a bit.  And I’m not in shape, so believe me, elegance isn’t possible even later on the day.

Truth be told, this was the best run I’ve ever had in my entire life.  I had no pain, not even a stitch.  I was winded, occasionally, but never found myself gasping for breath.  No baby steps today!  I kept my pace steady through each jogging interval, and gave myself a mini pep talk each time I walked.

I was worried I saw someone I knew, but I never saw his face, could only smell his clove cigarette as he walked around the park a few times.  I probably don’t know him, but that didn’t keep me from being embarrassed about my victory cheer when I finished for the day.  I thought nobody was around for at least a block, but he was walking up the stairs behind the bushes just in time.  Can’t win them all, I guess.

And I’m very cautious to say I’m really getting somewhere already, because, while I changed quite a bit between Sunday and today, the weather did, as well.  The sun came out just as I set out Sunday, the heat and humidity something I should be used to after years in Boston and many a summer in Philadelphia.  It really beat me up.  Today, on the other hand, was cloudy, with a fine mist filling the air, sometimes turning into actual drizzle.  It was delightful, and now I wish it would rain all the time so I could feel so good about myself again.

Difficulty getting motivated today.

I. Hurt.

My haunches and the part of my thighs above my knees are killing me, especially when I’ve been sitting or lying down for more than 20 minutes or so.  That is to say nothing of stairs.

I’m trying to make sure this doesn’t cloud my motivation to try again Wednesday.  The last time I was in post-run agony (maybe five years ago), my friend Tim told me that the pain meant I just needed to get out there and do it again, as soon as possible.  Then again, Tim was a masochist when it came to stuff like this.  He ran a marathon just to prove he could do it while smoking a pack a day.

Imagine if I smoked.  Holy hell.

Fallon Field is maybe four blocks from my house, and it has a nice paved walkway around it.  This is where I decided to take my first run on the Couch to 5K plan.  In the first round of 60s jogging/90s walking, I felt impressed with myself.  I was a little winded, but got over it in time to confidently break into a jog.  This might not be so bad, I thought.  Well that was dumb. During the second round I didn’t bounce back quite as easily as I would have liked, but my normal running agony wasn’t evident in the way it normally would be.  A little breathless, but doable.  No joint pain,  no hot-feeling face, no stitches. Then came the stitches. Then the flushed face. Then the joint pain, but I found a good breathing rhythm to get rid of the stitches.  By the last round, I was running in the same way a septuagenarian might while finishing up the Boston Marathon.  Or like Victor Kulak trying to get away from Neil in Wet Hot American Summer, at best. In the end I was sore.  My legs felt like they were moving involuntarily as I walked home, telling myself that I was so awesome for following through with that first-level exercise that I deserved to go home and drink water until I was sick.   I walked into the house and announced that the rumors were true - I was, indeed, awesome.  I told my roommate that I was going to go take a shower, and that if the water was still running in an hour it meant I had probably passed out and drowned. It was kind of funny - during the seconds before I was due to break into a jog, I had the same panic I have when I walk into a first date and scan the room to see if he’s there yet.  Now that’s something only someone as afraid of physical activity as I am would feel. One downside of the park is that there is always a game of sorts going on in the field this time of year, and I swear I heard kids laughing at me as I panted my way past them a fifth time.  Had I the breath, I would have laughed at them for bringing their bats and gloves, only to find the field was occupied by a company softball game.  Serves them right. I am proud of myself, though.  Really!  I will do this again on Wednesday.  For now, I’m going to take some ibuprofen and go to bed.

Fallon Field is maybe four blocks from my house, and it has a nice paved walkway around it.  This is where I decided to take my first run on the Couch to 5K plan.  In the first round of 60s jogging/90s walking, I felt impressed with myself.  I was a little winded, but got over it in time to confidently break into a jog.  This might not be so bad, I thought.  Well that was dumb.

During the second round I didn’t bounce back quite as easily as I would have liked, but my normal running agony wasn’t evident in the way it normally would be.  A little breathless, but doable.  No joint pain,  no hot-feeling face, no stitches.

Then came the stitches.

Then the flushed face.

Then the joint pain, but I found a good breathing rhythm to get rid of the stitches.  By the last round, I was running in the same way a septuagenarian might while finishing up the Boston Marathon.  Or like Victor Kulak trying to get away from Neil in Wet Hot American Summer, at best.

In the end I was sore.  My legs felt like they were moving involuntarily as I walked home, telling myself that I was so awesome for following through with that first-level exercise that I deserved to go home and drink water until I was sick.  

I walked into the house and announced that the rumors were true - I was, indeed, awesome.  I told my roommate that I was going to go take a shower, and that if the water was still running in an hour it meant I had probably passed out and drowned.

It was kind of funny - during the seconds before I was due to break into a jog, I had the same panic I have when I walk into a first date and scan the room to see if he’s there yet.  Now that’s something only someone as afraid of physical activity as I am would feel.

One downside of the park is that there is always a game of sorts going on in the field this time of year, and I swear I heard kids laughing at me as I panted my way past them a fifth time.  Had I the breath, I would have laughed at them for bringing their bats and gloves, only to find the field was occupied by a company softball game.  Serves them right.

I am proud of myself, though.  Really!  I will do this again on Wednesday.  For now, I’m going to take some ibuprofen and go to bed.

First things first.

Yesterday I bought a pair of Asics Gel-Enhance III sneakers.  They aren’t quite what the girl at Marathon Sports recommended, but the feel is the same, which is important, and they were half the price, which is glorious.

I piled my new shoes, my college shorts, sports bra, socks, and Obama shirt next to the door.  I’m hoping that looking at this pile will remind me that it is very easy to don my running costume and just get out there, but I think there’s some mental preparation I’ve got to do first.  The pile, though, is there, ready when I am.

I’ve tried running so many times and just stopped.  Because it hurt!  And I couldn’t breathe!  And no amount of knowledge that the mental side of this sport is perfect for me, and the health benefits and sense of accomplishment I’ll feel, will get me to do it again.  It’s when I make these sweeping judgements of running and freakish running people with their mythical runners’ highs that someone who used to feel the way I do comes along and tells me I’ve just been doing it wrong, and that I need to try again.

I believe you, people.  And I will.  But in my desire not to be so battered and bruised by running, I want to be sure I’m more than just ready to try again.  I ant to know that I’m ready to make the effort to do it right.

When I last became a vegetarian it was the same.  How many times did I remove meat from my diet and get sick?  How many times did bacon pull me off the wagon?  My diet has really taught me a lesson in self-restraint.  It wasn’t until I was ready to take the extra steps (monitoring my iron and vitamin D intake, visualizing where that bacon came from when I was tempted, etc.) that I actually had any success at not eating meat.  I figure, with no job to speak of, I should have all the time and energy necessary to keep the running ball rolling.  My first big goal is to make running a habit.  Further down the line, I want to like it.  Later, I want to crave it.

Most importantly I want to treat my body with the respect it deserves.  I’m not sure I ever have, honestly.  This is my time.

I’ll let you know when I start.