I am, quite possibly, going insane. My husband is ready to verify whether I’ve been body snatched. I’m moving around like an arthritic old woman… And I kinda like it.
While on vacation in Kansas, my buddy got a couple of guest passes to her gym for me. On the second visit, once I’d finished my weight lifting, I didn’t feel like doing the bike (what I normally do at home) because I’d done that the first day and it put my butt to sleep. SUPER uncomfortable seat. So I got on the treadmill. Was just going to walk and do my interval training that way. And then I thought, what the hell, I’ll try to jog.
I have never really been a runner, despite being the progeny of one (my dad has been doing 10ks all my life). I mean, seriously, it has such an unreasonably low calorie burn considering the effort expended. In high school I tried to become a runner, but I preferred swimming laps. In college I did become a runner as part of the training program of being on the university Taekwondo team. Running in fully lined, long sleeve, long pants windsuits in the dead of JULY in Mississippi is nothing but a recipe for heat stroke (yet my coach seemed to think it had something to do with endurance). Even after I left the team, I kept up with the running through my Junior year. The habit faltered when I moved abroad for several months. I came home, got my first dog Daisy, and mostly was content to take long walks at the park. I got back into running before my wedding to make sure and get back to the Scarlett O’Hara waist that was required for my dress. Then I stopped again. I tried to get back into it yet again as a project for my Behavioral Modification class in grad school. Built up to 2 miles but as soon as class was over, I quit again because my knee just couldn’t take it and I didn’t like it. I have an old injury from high school where I fell down a flight of stairs (see, nothing glorious like a sports related injury while kicking a winning goal) and jacked it up and it’s never been quite right since. That was five years ago.
So Monday last, I decided to try it and see how I did. Did my interval training and went about a mile and a half. Maybe half a mile of that was jogged. I was so sore by that night I was wincing, and the 12 hour car ride home the next day left me almost wanting to weep. Yoga. Please, dear GOD, yoga. But my knee held up.
Saturday night I dreamed of running. Not like running for my life in an escape kind of capacity (which, given the stuff I write about, would not be outside the realm of possibility), but the actual exercise of running. So I woke up Sunday morning with the hare-brained idea of going jogging again. If my knee held up to the squishy of the treadmill, I decided it was worth seeing what it would do on pavement. I went 2.25 miles, of which I jogged about a mile.
Then this morning I got up and did it again. At 6:15. When it was still dark out (which was kind of nice, as there was no squinting into the sun). That would be the part where I’m insane. Not that I’m not usually working out at that hour during the week. But this was jogging. In the morning. I hate the morning.
It was kind of nice being out in the cool dark, nobody stirring yet, with nothing but the beat of drums and pulsing brass to drive me (I decided to make a running playlist of all the fight/chase scenes from the assorted movie scores in my collection). I pushed myself, making little deals–just one more driveway, to the next stopsign–as I made my way around the honeycomb of residential streets in our area. Two miles, of which I think I jogged about 1.25 miles, with less of an ice pick in my ribs this time. (I’m being told on Facebook the key to avoiding this is to exhale more than you inhale…shall try it next time)
I don’t really know what’s come over me other than the need to shake up my routine. My body has acclimated to almost everything in my home workout repertoire other than the weight lifting. And I keep seeing all these inspirational running things on Pinterest. And there’s a tiny, tiny part of me that looks at my characters running for their lives and thinking it’d be nice to know if I had to I actually, you know, could.
I have no idea how long this insanity will continue. There’s a helluva lot of difference between running at 6:15 in 32 degrees and running at 6:15 in 70+. But for now…it seems I’m getting back into it. Because, you know, who wouldn’t want to look like this:
Feel free to call the men in white coats.