So, a few years ago, I decided I wanted to get into better shape. My family has a history of heart disease and diabetes and yada, yada. I know all you hear is a girl whining “I’m so faaaaat, I need to be skinny! Look at my BUTT! Wahhh.” In this case, ehhh…I AM a girl, and I’m a bit overweight, but that’s where the similarity ends. I’m happy with myself. I also want to be healthy and live for a long time. And in order to help do that, I recently quit my decade-long, enjoyable smoking habit, I switched to liquor from beer, and I’m trying to vary my work outs. My mother works out. If my almost 62-year-old mom in Florida can decide to get healthy, so can I!
So, when I started working out a few years back, just using the elliptical machine and occasionally swimming laps. Today, I still do the exact same exercise routine, and I have definitely plateau’ed on my hilly path to health. I go to the Y 4-5 times a week, and I have genuinely come to enjoy going to the gym. It’s the craziest thing, I used to make fun of people who liked working out, I thought it was ridiculous! It’s not. I do it after work every day, and it makes me feel good, gives me energy, and when I don’t go to the gym, Boyfriend can attest to the fact that I have too much excess energy and am bouncing off the walls.
I have trouble sticking to diets. It turns out that I have little to no self control, and somehow just got lucky that quitting smoking was easier than I thought it would be. I love bagels, and cookies and skittles, and dammit, macaroni and cheese and I are the very best of friends (sorry you had to find out this way, Emily!).
Anyway, back to the running thing. I’ve always hated it. The few times I have attempted jogging, when there were no gyms around (like on vacations), I have cursed it with every fiber of my being. “Running is terrible,” I said. “Running is terrible and painful and deadly all over. Nike should make that their new slogan,” said I. I happen to think that was hilarious. And if you don’t laugh at that, well…I accept your constitutional right to suck.
I like walking. Hell, I live in NYC, I haven’t much choice. My friend told me about this jogging program called “Couch to 5k.” It has an app, so I downloaded it to my phone, and it tells you exactly what to do and when to do it. It has a stopwatch and pulls up your music for you, too. It tells me “alls youse gotta do is run for one minute. ONE stinkin’ minute, then walk for a minute and a half. Alternate for 20 minutes, and you’re done.” (I don’t know why I decided to write that with an accent…) It sounded easy, so I figured, why not?
I put on my spandex pants (I am hella sexy at the gym), strap on a sports bra and my Seniors ’04 t shirt, and an ankle brace (whooole different story) and off I go to a treadmill.
If you’ve never run on a treadmill, let me just explain to you that a teeny tiny little bitty person in sneakers running on it sounds like they are Godzilla clomping through downtown. I sound like a herd of elephants. Luckily, my music was loud enough to cover the stomping sounds, or I would’ve been done in about 17 seconds.
And you know what? It wasn’t that bad. I found my pace, stared at the stopwatch for the one minute, and then stroll along all dandy for a bit. It really wasn’t that bad. Maybe running isn’t the sport of the devil. Or maybe it is. Maybe the devil just wanted to get into shape a little bit. Jeez! Leave the poor guy alone!
|See? He's just running with a friend!|