I'll huff and I'll puff ... and I'll pass out on your lawn
So I've been walking a lot lately. I try to get in three trips to Curves and three walks of at least five kilometers each week, but it's usually more like two walks and a trip to Curves. *sigh* It's got to be done, though. So long as I get my butt in gear at least four hours a week, I consider that week to be a successful one.
I'm allowed to set my own hours at work. (I'm trying not to abuse the privilege, but I have a tendency to push limits and not stick to routines because I have the emotional maturity of a four year old.) I come in roughly at noon, which gives me time to sleep from midnight to eight, spend an hour and a half waking up and eating breakfast, an hour working out, then an hour getting ready for work before spending half an hour on the road. But the "Just five more minutes" tendency rules in my funny little brain, and I finally considered working out around 10:15 today. I was putting my shoes on when I looked at the clock -- really LOOKED -- and cursed myself for an imbecile before grabbing my towel and toothbrush and heading to the bathroom. I would have been at least 45 minutes late if I'd gone to Curves, which has happened, but I'd really rather not, thanks. So I got to work on time but didn't work out. As a result, I can do any or all of three things:
1. walk around campus while at work: each loopy lap is half a mile
2. berate myself for being a lazy twit and drown my sorrows in chocolate
3. think about how to get myself into workout mode tomorrow morning
I shall try to ignore the Nutella in my filing cabinet and focus on numbers one and three.
I read the blog of an Irish dude who was almost as fat as I am now when he started running a few years ago. He's lost seventy pounds. He has run a full marathon and a half marathon in the last few weeks. He has another marathon before the end of the month. I'm hesitant about just jumping up and breaking into a jog like he did for two reasons:
1. he's about ten years my junior, so his knees and hips cannot possibly have as much wear and tear as mine
2. note that I said he was almost as fat; he's taller, and his starting weight was less than mine
So I'm walking for now. I live on a bluff in my biggish city -- about 70 feet above sea level -- but I'm half a mile from the nearest beach, so I can get to sea level in less than fifteen minutes. The neighborhood between mine and Dad's is full of hills, so I keep looking for ways to vary my route and find more hills to conquer. If I'm gonna walk a loop of 3.1 miles (five kilometers), walking up and down lots of hills is more productive than walking on flat terrain, right?
Okay, when I say "lots" and "hills," it's three hills, and none of the climbs is higher than forty feet. I'm a fat, middle-aged broad, remember? Baby steps. The local Big Hill (elevation 350-ish feet) and then higher peaks will follow. Also, running will follow. There's a program called Couch to 5K that takes (in theory) nine weeks to get you running. Jog a little, walk a little, multiply that times eight plus warming up and cooling down; multiply that by three, and you have Week One. The full program is here, and podcasts to load onto your phone or iPod are here. Less than two hours a week for nine weeks, and you're running three miles.
But I'm not running yet. I would shred my almost forty year old knees if I jogged with this much excess weight. I've set it up in my mind that starting Ct5K is my reward (masochist alert) for having lost fifty pounds. As of last week, I'm down fourteen, so I still have a way to go. My current short term goal to run the annual Thanksgiving 5K Turkey Trot this year, and I'm not sure I'll make it, but dash it all, I'm gonna try.
Modifying my food intake will follow. I work out like someone who cares, but I and eat like someone who doesn't. Chocolate, soda, fries, chips, and ice cream: NOM NOM NOM. I have made some changes already: I eat more vegetables, and I've cut out almost all beef and pork. Most of my protein comes from chicken and fish, which sounds great until I tell you that as often as not, it's fish and chips or orange chicken NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM.
*shakes head* One thing at a time. Walking works! I have more energy. My chest doesn't hurt. My stomach doesn't ache. My butt and thigh muscles feel like they can carry me for days. I don't gasp for breath when I walk up those little hills I mentioned. My depression and anxiety are quieter. I smile more. I'm less angry. I have hope for the future.
I'm allowed to set my own hours at work. (I'm trying not to abuse the privilege, but I have a tendency to push limits and not stick to routines because I have the emotional maturity of a four year old.) I come in roughly at noon, which gives me time to sleep from midnight to eight, spend an hour and a half waking up and eating breakfast, an hour working out, then an hour getting ready for work before spending half an hour on the road. But the "Just five more minutes" tendency rules in my funny little brain, and I finally considered working out around 10:15 today. I was putting my shoes on when I looked at the clock -- really LOOKED -- and cursed myself for an imbecile before grabbing my towel and toothbrush and heading to the bathroom. I would have been at least 45 minutes late if I'd gone to Curves, which has happened, but I'd really rather not, thanks. So I got to work on time but didn't work out. As a result, I can do any or all of three things:
1. walk around campus while at work: each loopy lap is half a mile
2. berate myself for being a lazy twit and drown my sorrows in chocolate
3. think about how to get myself into workout mode tomorrow morning
I shall try to ignore the Nutella in my filing cabinet and focus on numbers one and three.
I read the blog of an Irish dude who was almost as fat as I am now when he started running a few years ago. He's lost seventy pounds. He has run a full marathon and a half marathon in the last few weeks. He has another marathon before the end of the month. I'm hesitant about just jumping up and breaking into a jog like he did for two reasons:
1. he's about ten years my junior, so his knees and hips cannot possibly have as much wear and tear as mine
2. note that I said he was almost as fat; he's taller, and his starting weight was less than mine
So I'm walking for now. I live on a bluff in my biggish city -- about 70 feet above sea level -- but I'm half a mile from the nearest beach, so I can get to sea level in less than fifteen minutes. The neighborhood between mine and Dad's is full of hills, so I keep looking for ways to vary my route and find more hills to conquer. If I'm gonna walk a loop of 3.1 miles (five kilometers), walking up and down lots of hills is more productive than walking on flat terrain, right?
Okay, when I say "lots" and "hills," it's three hills, and none of the climbs is higher than forty feet. I'm a fat, middle-aged broad, remember? Baby steps. The local Big Hill (elevation 350-ish feet) and then higher peaks will follow. Also, running will follow. There's a program called Couch to 5K that takes (in theory) nine weeks to get you running. Jog a little, walk a little, multiply that times eight plus warming up and cooling down; multiply that by three, and you have Week One. The full program is here, and podcasts to load onto your phone or iPod are here. Less than two hours a week for nine weeks, and you're running three miles.
But I'm not running yet. I would shred my almost forty year old knees if I jogged with this much excess weight. I've set it up in my mind that starting Ct5K is my reward (masochist alert) for having lost fifty pounds. As of last week, I'm down fourteen, so I still have a way to go. My current short term goal to run the annual Thanksgiving 5K Turkey Trot this year, and I'm not sure I'll make it, but dash it all, I'm gonna try.
Modifying my food intake will follow. I work out like someone who cares, but I and eat like someone who doesn't. Chocolate, soda, fries, chips, and ice cream: NOM NOM NOM. I have made some changes already: I eat more vegetables, and I've cut out almost all beef and pork. Most of my protein comes from chicken and fish, which sounds great until I tell you that as often as not, it's fish and chips or orange chicken NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM.
*shakes head* One thing at a time. Walking works! I have more energy. My chest doesn't hurt. My stomach doesn't ache. My butt and thigh muscles feel like they can carry me for days. I don't gasp for breath when I walk up those little hills I mentioned. My depression and anxiety are quieter. I smile more. I'm less angry. I have hope for the future.
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