Slow and Steady Wins the Race

I was informed, via email, today by the head traitor girlfriend that "You all need to sign up for at least a 5k in the spring (deadline: April 15!) Side note: Lynne, these 5k's are not "just for fun" they are an investment in your half-marathon future!!" Ouch! I felt like I was called out by the teacher in front of the whole class. In order to redeem myself in the eyes of the head traitor, I dutifully signed up for a 5k walk/run taking place on March 6th. I also called my mother and informed her that she will be participating in this race with me.

I recently had the horrifying realization that at my current speed of 22 minutes per mile, it will take me roughly 6.5 hours to complete this race. Something tells me that this is not an acceptable time. I have these terrifying visions of finally reaching the finish line of my first half-marathon, only to discover that everything has been packed up, and all of the participants have gone home. I picture wadded up papers with numbers on them rolling through the streets like tumbleweeds. The possibility of this bleak future is currently fueling my slow, but steady, progress.

Two days ago, I began to develop a nasty, phlegmy cough. I even had to leave work early yesterday. I spent most of last night in a cough medicine induced stupor and, thus, was benched from my training. Today, I am not feeling much better, but I did walk a mile and a half on my treadmill. My pace was slower than it has been lately, but I am proud of myself for doing it at all. In my pre-marathon days, I have been known to put on my exercise clothes and tennis shoes, walk outside, experience some menial amount of discomfort (a sniffle, a toe cramp, a hiccup, etc), swiftly pronounce myself too unwell to exercise, and banish myself to the couch for the rest of the evening. Gone are these good old days...

Tomorrow's assignment is to walk for 30 min and run for at least 1 minute.

The Gym

Just as the concept of running/walking a half marathon in nine months is no longer triggering an anxiety attack, my traitor girlfriends are upping the ante. It is not enough that I have committed to this fool's quest, but now they are bombarding me invitations for 5k races and 10k races "just for fun."

Whatever happened to the days when peer pressure involved fun things like drugs and alcohol? When I attended the DARE program in the 6th grade, the police officer never warned me about the hooligans that pushed horrific things like exercise, unprocessed food, and water. Had I been fully informed, I may not have found myself in my current predicament.

Never the less, I am a girl of my word. I committed to completing a half-marathon this year, and I will prepare accordingly. I have downloaded a training schedule for beginners and began following it on Monday. Coincidentally, Monday's assignment was to rest (I have chosen to ignore the fact that I also chose the previous Saturday as a day of rest). I have made a science out of resting, so I completed Monday's task with flying colors.

Today's task was to walk for 30 minutes at a comfortable pace. This task presented a dilemma. I am fairly certain that the pace I consider as "comfortable" is much slower that that of the average person. My mother describes my usual pace as "lolly-gagging." I never walk with any sort of purpose and am often distracted by various shiny things along my path.

I ventured into the gym with my friend Sara. As a general rule, I hate gyms. They smell like sweaty feet and are full of skinny athletic people who grunt a lot and prance around like peacocks displaying their tail feathers. Plus, the combination of fluorescent lighting and floor-to-ceiling mirrors does not inspire confidence in those of us who could go a lifetime without seeing our extra flesh in motion.

My boss provides a gym membership as one of our benefits at work. In return, he expects us to actually use the membership. He once ordered me to go to the gym at least once a week for a month and informed me that he would be checking to make sure I went. Instead of actually using the gym equipment, I went three times a week and used the free tanning bed.

So here I am at the gym. Sara and I chose side-by-side treadmills. I selected a treadmill setting of 3 (don't laugh, on Sunday my speed was 2, so I am improving). I was pleasantly surprised to discover that my legs felt stronger today and I was able to keep a steady pace for most of the 30 minutes. I successfully beat my previous mile time by 7 minutes. I walked a mile in 22 minutes.

When my 30 minutes were up, I stopped the treadmill and stretched my legs (in hindsight, I would have gotten off of the treadmill before I stretched). Somehow, the belt began to move again, thus causing me to lose my balance and roll toward the front of the treadmill. I looked to my ever supportive friend for help, but she could not see through the tears of laughter that were clouding her vision. I eventually untangled myself from the treadmill and made a hasty retreat to the locker room.

Tomorrow's assignment: walk 30 minutes, run for at least 1 minute

The Best Laid Plans

Friday evening, after I wrote Day Two's blog entry, I made a plan for Saturday.

The plan was as follows:

1. Get up early

2. Clean the living room

3. Go to the Gym

This was my actual Saturday:

1. Get up at 1:00 pm

2. Move to the recliner with pillow and blanket

3. Watch everything saved in my DVR list

4. Move back to the bed to sleep for the night.

Needless to say, Saturday was an utter and complete failure. No gym, no walking, really not much movement at all. However, my husband was productive. Later in the afternoon, he walked into the living room looking very satisfied with himself. He announced that he had cleaned out the refrigerator. As I expressed my delight, his expression changed to one of sheepishness. He admitted that he had actually just finished off the last of a bottle of firefly vodka in the fridge and threw the bottle away. It was 4:00 pm. I laughed so hard that I almost fell out of my recliner. Thank goodness I didn't, it would have required movement to get back in it.

Sunday was much better. I made up for my lack of movement. I decided to walk on the treadmill. After my five minute warm up, I cranked up the speed and got into the groove. I was sweating, breathing hard, and really working it. At that moment, completing a half-marathon seemed like child's play. I looked down at the timer--3 min and 23 seconds had elapsed. Are you kidding me? I felt like I was going to die, and I had only been walking for 3:23?

This is going to be harder than I thought. I did finish my mile. It took me 29 minutes, but I finished it.

Day 5 Assignment: walk 1 mile in less than 29 minutes.

Oh, The Horror!

Day two began with a complete physical, for which I was 20 minutes late. I actually arrived at the doctor's office on time, but sat in my car for 20 minutes debating whether or not to enter. Actually, I considered abandoning ship, entirely--refusing to participate in the half-marathon, deleting this blog, and hiding from my overly persistent girlfriends. I was perfectly willing to throw it all away, just to avoid the horror that awaited me within those walls.

Interestingly, I am not an unhealthy person. My fear of doctors is completely unfounded--especially considering that my mother is a nurse, and my nauseatingly fit sister is in her third year of medical school. (Side note: I promised that I would mention my youngest sister in this blog. We will call her the "irritatingly pretty sister.") Perhaps I can best explain my cowardice by comparing the process of the physical to that of a particularly diabolical obstacle course:

Obstacle 1: The receptionist:

As a rule, the receptionists at physicians' offices are not kind to the habitually tardy. This one was no exception. We have met before--she hates me. I could sense her disdain as I signed the ubiquitous clipboard. She glared at me and informed me that she would ask my physician if she would still see me. For a brief moment, I sensed imminent escape--if she won't see me, then I am free! My hopes were dashed, however, when the delightful receptionist grudgingly informed me that I would be seen.

Obstacle 2: The scale:

This ruthlessly unforgiving monstrosity has been taunting me for many years. Just when I begin to believe that my dryer shrank every piece of clothing I own, my eternal foe jerks me right back to the harsh reality of the most dreaded number imaginable--my weight.

Obstacle 3: The Reckoning:

As I faced the she-devil I call my physician, I braced myself for her wrath. I had gained 20 lbs since my last appointment six months ago. I took my lecture like a man and assured her that everything was about to change. I filled her in on my new endeavor. I was pleasantly surprised when she gave me some tips and pledged her support. Perhaps she is not the demon I once thought...

Obstacle 4: The Pap Smear:

Enough said.

Obstacle 5: Lab Work:

Needles, blood, and urine--these are not a few of my favorite things. However, I did experience something new. While drawing my blood, the lab tech discovered that I am a counselor. She actually followed me into the bathroom, closed the door, and proceeded to ask my advice concerning a personal dilemma. During our conversation, I actually caught myself gesturing emphatically with my urine cup. After an impromptu therapy session, I obediently filled the cup and was on my way.

Freedom! I made it out of this medical house of horrors safely with a dose of the H1N1 vaccine, a clean bill of health, and my physician's blessing to begin training.

As promised, I completed my mile walk. I opted for a walk outside with my hubby and dog instead of the treadmill.

Day three's assignment: venturing into the gym...

Day One

My journey begins with me reclining comfortably on the couch, my laptop resting on a pillow in my lap, and will end on Labor Day 2010, when I cross the finish line of the Virginia Beach Rock'n'Roll Half Marathon. Even as I type these words, self-doubt is nagging at my stubborn, if not always realistic, self-confidence.

As the title of my blog not-so-subtly suggests, I am not the paragon of physical health that embodies most marathoners. My sadistic physician likes to use words like "obese" and "significantly overweight" when referring to my physical stature. However, I prefer using more gentle words like "fluffy," "plump," and "over-achiever." My level of athleticism falls somewhere between that of a paraplegic and an inactive senior citizen suffering from arthritis.

So why, you may ask, would I even consider participating in a half-marathon? I assure you, dear reader, I am not the masochist that I may seem. Rather, I am simply a victim of the worst kind of peer pressure--guilt.

I subscribe to the motto that one should always "friend-up." "Friending-Up" is a common strategy in which one chooses friends that are smarter, thinner, prettier, etc. than him/herself. Many are avid proponents of "friending-down," thus always seeming better by comparison, but I enjoy a challenge. I have five very thin, very pretty girlfriends. We all went to college together and vacation together every Labor day weekend. Usually, we spend these weekends drinking way too much and talking about ourselves ad nausea. I love these weekends. Imagine my horror when one of my beloved ladies suggested that next year (2010) we spend Labor Day weekend participating in a half-marathon. I admit that my initial reaction involved an incredulous expression and a few well-placed expletives. It appeared that my dear friends had turned against me. I watched in shock as each one of them heralded this asinine idea and eagerly committed to it on the spot. At that moment, I hated each of them just a little bit.

Well, they wore me down. I begrudgingly agreed, and here we are. I bought a pair of tennis shoes, brought the treadmill out of storage, and made a training schedule. I decided to write a blog about my journey to promote accountability. This story would not be complete with out a charming cast of supporting characters. My equally "fluffy" husband, my nauseatingly fit sister, her experienced runner fiancé (who has actually run a whole marathon), and my traitor girl friends will all appear in this blog throughout the next 9 months.

Day two will begin with a physical (boo!) so I am under the supervision of a medical professional during my journey. I will also walk at least one mile on my treadmill.

Wish me luck!