Month: August 2018

I’ve been testing the waters by slowly, gently jogging on the treadmill at my gym.  I used to be a “real runner”, but that was at least 50 pounds and quite some time ago.  I want to get back to that, and the only way to do that is to run.

Ever start back to running after giving it up for a long time?  It’s delightful.  You should try it sometime.  Seriously, any time you feel up to a bout of self-punishment and masochistic flagellation, take yourself for a run.

I decided to go for broke and take my run outside.  It will be fun!  Fresh air!  Scenery!  The great outdoors!

Ummm, no.  The transition from a nice, smooth treadmill in an air-conditioned gym to a trail with hills in muggy, disgustingly humid weather really required a stepping stone or two in between.  I don’t know what I was thinking.  A few paces in, sunscreen mixed with sweat was running into my eyes.  My calves were protesting by tightening up.  My lungs felt like they had surely collapsed, in a heroic, last-ditch effort to force my body to just stop already.

I was surprised that no one walking or jogging by attempted to administer CPR to the gasping, wheezing, breathing-like-Darth-Vader, obviously-in-distress chubby lady jiggling along the path.  Every fat cell on my body felt like it weighed a ton.  I kept rubbing my poor, assaulted eyes (damn sunscreen!)  I was mouth-breathing like a fish trapped on land.  In short, I was a sad, pathetic, and somewhat disturbing sight.

“This is fun,” I thought to myself (because I am sarcastic even when I talk to myself).  “Great idea.  Maybe we should go swimming with sharks next, genius.”

I had to slow to a walk here and there, but damn it, I came here to run.  As soon as I could, I picked up the pace and resumed running…or, rather, plodding along like a turtle in quicksand, wishing desperately for an ambulance to scoop me up and rescue me from the hell in which I had placed myself.

Sweaty, eyes red and burning, sore already, ego wounded and pride shot to hell, I shuffled home.  My husband asked brightly, unsuspectingly, “How was it?”

“Horrible,” I mumbled.

“But you did it,” he pointed out.

True.  I was too stubborn to admit defeat and just head home, so at least I had a workout done for the day, whether it was torture or not.  (And oh, it was.)

The irony is, running won’t get any easier until I lose weight and get into better shape.  I can’t lose weight or get into better shape without exercising.  So, like it or not, working out is the only gateway to where I want to be.  I just need to grit my teeth, deal with it, and power through the toughest part to get to where I very much want to be.

So I will.