The prodigal son returns! January 15, 2008
So, I didn’t weigh myself today. I got up at 8:17 (I was supposed to be at work at 8:30, luckily, I only work 3 minutes away) and barely brushed my teeth before running out the door half naked.
Food was good. I had a yogurt for breakfast, and snacked on string cheese and an apple in the morning. For lunch, I had MCDonalds, I know, not so good. But it was hubbys bday and he wanted to go there (we didn’t have much time) I had a McChicken and medium fries with a small diet coke. In the afternoon, I had a super super small sliver of cake. For dinner, I had a wrap with bacon, turkey, a little bit of lowfat ranch, some lettuce, and just a tiny touch of cheese. But, it was NUMMY. And I finished it off with a 100 calorie pack of Cheezit Party mix.
I didn’t make it to the gym this morning (as evidenced by my super late wake up. Damned Opera Dog) but I went right after work. Which is especially amazing because I forgot my iPod at work, which would have normally been a deal-killer for me. But, I made it to the gym, and on to the treadmill. Amazingly, I didn’t fall off of it. Even more amazingly, I RAN A MILE!!!! A WHOLE GOSH-DARNED MILE! Now, I know that a mile is not a big deal to some. Some people run a mile faster than I can brush my teeth. Those people can kiss my ass. Not really, I mean, I’m happy for them and all, but they can take their accomplishments somewhere else. That’s right folks, I ran my first mile in 6 or 7 years, whenever they quit making you run the damned thing in highschool. I was nervous about the whole thing, because I was running for time, to see how fast I could run one as my starting point. I was especially nervous because the damned thing automatically shuts off in 30 minutes. That could have been embarassing. But I set a goal of fifteen minutes, and beat it! I ran my first mile in 14 minutes and 4 seconds. Once again, not particularly outstanding or impressive to some, but those folks can take another bite of their powerbar and shut up. Or worse yet, drink some of those stupid gels that runners carry in special belts. I’m proud of myself because, gosh darnit, I did something I never thought I’d do, and definitely never thought I’d like. Now, at no point did I feel like running an extra 25.2 miles on top of it all, but still. I actually liked running. Which is beyond surprising. After my mile, I hopped on the eliptical for another 30 minutes, bringing my total distance to 3.33 miles, and my total cardio workout to 44 minutes. Whew. I didn’t get any weights in, but that’s a different story. I got my cardio in, and I got my stretch on. And, I can run a mile, which means I can officially do anything. Not only did I run a mile, I ran a mile at altitude. Most people have the luxury of running at oxygen rich sea level. I on the other hand, am stuck with 6500 above, where the trees are plentiful but the oxygen isn’t. And I still made it. I am… what’s that word?, yeah, that’s right, INVINCIBLE.
Going back to the gym was difficult, it was more like the return of the prodigal son than return of the king. It even featured one instructor asking “haven’t you failed this class twice before?” No, I failed once and dropped once. Now go pop your gum elsewhere. The gym was, naturally, full of nimble, toned and spandex-clad gym nymphs. I spent a few miliseconds wishing that that could be me. That I could wear spandex workout outfits without people running and screaming, trying to pull out their own eyeballs. That my abs could be sleek, toned, and tan (I’m pretty damn pasty). That my muscles would be sculpted and strong, my hair would remain perfectly in place as I effortlessly ran 5 miles and finished it off with 500 crunches. Naturally, none of this would even cause me to break a sweat.
Reality check. I wear a baggy tshirt and some comfortable workout pants. Half my workout is keeping my hair out of my face, no matter how many rubberbands I use. I sweat, a lot. And by the time I finish running my mile, I’m breathing hard enough to fit in with the cast of a cheap porno movie. And you know what? That’s pretty fucking awesome. I know, I try to keep my language relatively clean, but it just fits. It means a lot more to me that I drag my flabby carcass to the gym knowing that I don’t like it, knowing it’s going to kick my butt, and knowing that every mile and every pound lifted will be a struggle. That means more to me than showing up to the gym and effortlessly working through my routine. I’m not going to belittle Gym Barbie, because I know that she started at the same place I’m starting, tired, sweaty, and out of breath. But I am celebrating the fact that I got there, I made it through, and I haven’t dropped dead yet. This is an uphill battle, but, baby, you burn more calories on incline.
