See, I went and did something foolish yesterday. It was nice and I had promised myself that I would go outside and get some exercise.
This all stems from the day that I ran up three flights of stairs to my apartment and almost passed out. Okay, not really, but I was feeling a little more huffy and puffy than I like to.
And not to get all Bridget Jones about it, but it wouldn't hurt me to lose some weight. Mostly because I saw a girl wearing the cutest skirt today! It would have looked fabulous on me.
I GENERALLY like my body. I'm pretty proportionate and curvy in all the right places, but the size of said curves could shrink to, say, a size 11 or 12 and I'd be cool with that. I've already lost some weight just from the strange hours that I work. I find that when you get home at 2:30 in the morning, nothing appeals to you. I eat a lot of sammiches and cereal. But, you know, one cannot expect to slim down on cheerios alone.
Hence the running.
Yesterday I threw on some sweat pants, my runners (which are legitimately used. I used to run quite a bit when I lived in Saskatoon) and headed out.
We have some lovely bridges and river-side trails around here. Foliage, parks, trails cut into the sides of coulees, very nature-like. Including the ever-popular "Hey, look! A pile of deer poop right where I just stepped!" Not that I begrudge the deer their potty, but you know, there's a wide expanse of prairie right next to the trail that I'm not running on!
So the running itself is hard. I hate it. I loathe it with every fibre of my being. (And as I'm no skinny minnie, there are lots of fibres of me to hate it with.) When I run, I can't breath properly, I can't talk, I can hardly think beyond "No, seriously, keep running. Lift those legs!" And then I get all freaked out because that was what my Grade 10 gym teacher used to say and I wanted to do her physical harm.
The way I run, I have a hard time believing that I will ever lose any weight doing this. My style goes something like this: "Okay, run, run, run, running! We're running this is fun! Wheee! I love running! Whhhheeeee.....ze! Wheeze! Wheeze! Oh God! My lung! I can't run! What made me think I could run? Oh, the pain! God! Okay. Maybe I'll just walk for a moment. Just a little break. Ahhhh. That's better. Maybe if I walked really fast. I could be a power-walker! Pumping my arms! Okay, but that looks stupid. Okay. I've got my breath back. I should start running again. Yep. I'll be running aaaaannnnny time now. I can feel it."
So there you have it folks. Run for a minute, walk for ten. I don't like the looks of that ratio either, but I think the key here is to start slow. I was out for 45 minutes yesterday and now every bone in my body is rebelling against natural motion. I can hear them going "Why did you dooo this to us?" Muttering "It's for your own good, you lazy layabouts!" doesn't seem to help. After years of me ignoring them, they've gotten pretty good at ignoring me.
I would join a gym, but the cost is simply too much. I mean, I looked at the Y and it was, like 68 bucks for the first month. 30 for every month thereafter. Now, that's reasonable I guess, but my paycheques are spent on bills and laundry and student loan payments so I don't usually have any spare dosh to fork over to run in place in a sterile environment. When I'm in a gym, I feel like a hampster on a wheel. I figure I can put myself in just as much pain for free. And this way, I get fresh air as well.
Of course, nothing is really free. I'm paying in pain. When I said I could hardly lift my leg? I'm not exaggerating. I wish I could call in sick to work today. My arms are killing me too. They feel heavy and stiff. I guess if I keep this up, I'll get better, it won't be so bad, blah, blah, blah.
Man. Now I have to go give my cat a bath. The fun never stops at Fort Awesome. No sir.
Tunes: April March - Chick Habit
Tube: Nightmare Before Christmas, Donnie Brasco and Rushmore on DVD
Text: Skinny Legs and All by Tom Robbins
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