Week 2
Yep, two miles is definitely more than one or 1.5 miles but we survived the 24 degree elements last Saturday morning, albeit we were late for warm-ups. Getting used to this eight o'clock arrival when there is no parking in site for many square blocks on end means we will need to set the alarm for predawn and make the 2 mile trek to the "Y" around 7:30 instead. All wake-up calls and travel snafus aside the 30 seconds of warm-up seemed sufficient as wifey and I settled into the rear of the 200 person or so pack from the parking lot of The Jefferson. Again, I needed to break from the claustrophobic morass of high-tech dressed pseudo-runners in their sleek designer, aerodynamic, skin-tight "look at me, I'm Nouveau Riche" attire. Meanwhile Staci and I are still donned more or less in PE clothing although we did break down and get her an ear-muff headband thingy and runners gloves (what will the they think of next?) and I sported a new pair of warm-up pants we bought last Friday (and swim goggles and swim suit!) since I got tired having to pick off infinite amounts of dog hair from my VCU sweatpants. My fleece jacket, however, makes up for that in a big way in the dog hair attracting arena. It might just be time to groom these hair shedding champions just a bit more, eh?
I had contacted one of the trainers about my never-ending left-calf saga who gave me all the standard advice about warming up and taking it easy. I don't know about you but when I jog I need to at least run fast enough to give me the impression that I am covering ground in a pseudo-timely fashion. I just can't do the walk/jog 18 inches at a time trot. It'd take me 3 hours to go 100 yards. It was cold, I was getting hungry and I needed to make reservations for March Madness In Vegas. You know, priorities and all. Again, I left wifey to her own devices and iPod while I set my pace, more or less, in between the frequent stops to walk since the sidewalk was clogged with LOTS of 18 inch striders. It took maybe a half mile before things thinned out enough that I had my own space and could settle into the beat of my stride.
Now this lap around Richmond had us heading slightly uphill along Franklin Street through the heart of the Monroe Park campus of VCU toward Stuart Circle then back down the same way on the other side of the street right pass my office. There were intermittent stops along the way because of traffic but the trainers were all positioned as monitors at the intersections to make sure all could cross without getting squished. In the beginning, the traffic annoyed me because it would stop me just when I was getting into the rhythm but by the time I was headed back toward home base I got to hoping we'd have to stop just so I could relieve the dull cramping of my hips, since going downhill really accentuates the pounding I was giving them. I admit I had to walk a couple of times going back for 50 feet or so before picking it back up again. Pride aside, I really didn't mind girls passing me so long as they didn't snicker at my wheezing. Eventually I made up my mind to NOT stop anymore unless forced by traffic.
I'm surprised how many cars were on the road in the eight o'clock hour. I mean it was Saturday morning. Weren't most sane people sleeping in or sleeping it off? Really, how many crappy jobs are there that force people to drive into work on a Saturday early-morning? No sane person is even going to shop at those types of places before 10:30 at the earliest. Have a heart crappy job-owners! Let us partial insane runners/walkers/18-inch striders have some room to operate on these city streets! Besides nobody has any money to spend. It's already gone to high-end running apparel fashion designers and overseas shoe-making sweat shops by the looks of things on my end. Yes, these are the musings that run through my head as I try to concentrate on anything but my aching lower body as I crossed Belvedere for the second time (good ol' Route 1 for any of you non-Richmonder's out there). One last moderate downhill incline then a short uphill climb back to the parking lot where trainers were urging us on. This time I actually fought through the proverbial "wall" and finished in the middle of the pack I guess. I never noticed the people I passed along the run only that I saw that the parking lot wasn't nearly as full as when we started. Perhaps some just kept jogging straight to their cars. Meanwhile I caught my breath and found a curb to stretch my calves while waiting for Staci. She showed up five or so minutes later beaming that she had run two miles for the first time ever in her life and was raring to run some more if need be. I was not so gung-ho as her. I was more interested in finding water and dreaming of how long Xtend would take before repairing my sore legs.
OK, the good news after a week of this self-imposed torture: My mouth and throat were not nearly as dry and parched as last week, but that may have been from sucking in all the fog that was abundant so early in the morn. I was able to catch my breath a whole lot faster after finishing--I wasn't a lung cancer patient after all. My lower extremities, though sore, seemed to recover better now that they are getting used to this 5-times a week abuse. The walk back to the car was not as pitiful. Perhaps my legs are getting a tad stronger from all this? Staci's hamstrings were taut but even she is noticing the Xtend is working toward alleviating that without having to gimp around for two days following a run. We are both sleeping better and feeling far more rested when awake. People have noticed are faces are slimmer even though we haven't noticed any weight decline. Staci has noticed some inches around her middle are disappearing and I confirm that when I hug her--my arms go around her more. Our recovery time seems to be speeding up, but I still contend that Xtend may be the next miracle drug (thanks Hotzee for your body-building tip!) Most importantly though, I secured flights and rooms at the Tropicana for five days for March Madness in Vegas after breakfast at The Village.
The only bad news to report was our Saturday night bi-monthly celebration whereby our alcohol tolerance levels may now be at an all-time low. We've made the conscious decision not to drink during the week anymore or when we have the kids, so that leaves only two Saturdays a month to go out and play with all our 20-something friends. Fridays are out because we have to run so early on Saturdays nowadays. So now a few glasses of wine, beer, liquor or shots (bury me with a bottle of Jamison's please) has much less resistance to alter thy brain. Needless to say Sunday was a bust! Much of it was spent flipping channels between a Mike Tyson Marathon of his early fights, basketball games and movies (Hot Tub Time Machine was WAY funnier than I would have guessed). Staci has newly sworn never to drink (like that) again. Yes, we still need to grout the new tile in the pantry and the refrigerator is nearly empty. Most of my energies were spent clipping coupons and doing laundry. But at least my legs didn't hurt. I was REM sleeping by 10:30.
Tonight we're supposed to run/walk an easy two miles. I think I'm gonna try the treadmill with wifey as a change of pace and see how that grabs me. I'm not very versed on a treadmill and I half expect to be thrown off the back end at some point. At least it'll have all the fancy gadgets to entertain me and tell me my exact mileage. Now if someone can tell me how to listen to the TV's via the radio frequency they profess that would be a major accomplishment. Else it'll be back to listening to some of the 2300 songs on the old iPod trying NOT to sing out loud or trying to imitate the slew of 90 pound, underweight, excessive calorie burner, they-should-be-studying, pre-20 year old's that think a cupcake will make them go up two dress sizes so I better run 20 miles tonight, future social security/medicare non-receivers.
No, I'm not bitter.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
Kids will do the DARNEDEST things!
So I was all set last night to swim a few laps in the wonderful salt-water pool that most peeps in VCU's gym fail to utilize since it was my "cross-training" day. All excited, I got home before wifey-poo and whisked through my husbandry chores of emptying the dishwasher, dumping the trash and putting out the bi-weekly recycling that seems to grow exponentially (I can't imagine what my trash would be like if I didn't have a recycling option, but in two weeks we probably recycle more than half our refuse and it is forever overflowing).
She came home a few minutes after me and was dressed for the gym way before me. Meanwhile, I was going through my ancient collection of swimwear, none of which fit very well, and digging through the attic to find the pool bag that I thought contained my super-duper cool-guy-look tinted swim racing goggles. Rather, it contained nothing but ancient pool toys, a variety of mostly used up sun tanning potions and maybe a pound of beach sand and broken sea shells. I guess my kids thought that I would never need those again when last seen in Holden Beach, NC last July. Which means I guess I'm going to Dick's Sporting Goods this weekend and finally use my $50 gift card from Xmas that I forgot I had in my wallet to resupply my swim gear. Disgruntled now, I drove us to the gym a couple miles away trying to figure out what cross training device or apparatus I was now going to have to use. I longingly gazed down at the near-empty pool in passing, bemoaning the fact that my kids lost my goggles and I would have to wait some more before I finally got to take my initial dip.
Wifey had long since settled on the treadmill to walk her miles while I decided to use the elliptical thingy next to her that sorta resembled a bike with arm swinging things attached. Modern technology at it's finest I must say for the pro-grammatical contraption actually had a 10K selection, so once I entered all my weight, age and level data I was pumping along while mesmerized by all the statistical data this thing was spitting back at me on it's big panel right in front of me: Calories burned, time, heart rate, percentages of this and that, miles to go, Mets produced (what the hell is that?), pretty little dots telling me what level of resistance I had to sweat through and for how much longer. All the while I was jamming away on my iPod to Green Day, Oasis and a bunch of other 90's rock stuff intermingled by the occasional country bumpkin tune or top 100 song from the 60's. This was way more my speed than having my legs burn in agony limping along the track trying to imitate Roberto Salazar. Seeing my hockey buddies and talking to them a bit while I explained why they were so shocked to see us in the gym helped kill the time even more.
Don't get me wrong, this machine did make my thighs burn like a mother and I was sweating like a virgin in jail but I was able to churn out six miles in 30 minutes. Don't ask me what the other stats said, I wasn't in the mood to know that all that working out only burned enough calories to equate to eating a Halloween-sized twix bar. It was only when I got up did I realize the extent of the damage I did to my thighs. Yes, I was breathing like a beached flounder but worse was the non-response my thighs were told to do--walk you morons! At least hold me upright! Ok, so I had to sit down again and regroup before my second attempt was successful. Though my calf and back felt better from yesterdays onslaught now I had a whole new joy of dull throbbing leg pain to deal with. This subsided gradually as I sauntered ever so slowly over to our locker to retrieve our belongings. I repeated the painfully slow ritual of putting on my sweatpants and fleece jacket while the wife confessed that her non-stretching had produced tight as hell hamstrings from her treadmill walking. I can only imagine the thoughts going through all the 20-something's heads as they looked at us two decrepit gimps holding onto the stair railings making our way down to the first floor. Oh, we aim to please!
Actually, we seemed to get better the more we walked it off. Staci made a wonderful 20-minute supper since it was getting near 8 o'clock by the time we came back home to the dogs. I fell asleep soon after watching some Cocaine Cowboy documentary on Showtime about some woman Colombian drug-billionaire named the Godmother. I'll tell you one thing, this training program does make me tired and I sleep like the dead, barely flinching for eight hours before the sun wakes me up in the morning. So I have that going for me....
Tomorrow is the dreaded TWO mile run--from the Downtown Y up Franklin Street on VCU's campus to Stuart Circle (Confederate cavalry General JEB Stuart for all you history buffs out there) and back again. We're to go at a steady pace which I pray to God my calf or back or thighs or eyeballs don't shut down prematurely and make me look like a pansy and have to walk with the retirees. This weeks worth of training BETTER start paying off some dividends soon cuz it's only gonna get worse and so far all I've garnered is a bunch of painful reminders anytime I take a step. At least my new tub of Xtend came in the mail yesterday. Maybe if I suck a bunch of that down before, during and after the run I just might be able to make it to the car without crawling? I'll let you all know how that goes over the weekend if my new power cord actually works at charging my laptop which hasn't worked lo these past six months. ( Note: buying rip-off knockoffs that advertise they will work just like the manufacturer at half the price is a bunch of bull! Don't be tempted! )
That's good advice--write that down.
She came home a few minutes after me and was dressed for the gym way before me. Meanwhile, I was going through my ancient collection of swimwear, none of which fit very well, and digging through the attic to find the pool bag that I thought contained my super-duper cool-guy-look tinted swim racing goggles. Rather, it contained nothing but ancient pool toys, a variety of mostly used up sun tanning potions and maybe a pound of beach sand and broken sea shells. I guess my kids thought that I would never need those again when last seen in Holden Beach, NC last July. Which means I guess I'm going to Dick's Sporting Goods this weekend and finally use my $50 gift card from Xmas that I forgot I had in my wallet to resupply my swim gear. Disgruntled now, I drove us to the gym a couple miles away trying to figure out what cross training device or apparatus I was now going to have to use. I longingly gazed down at the near-empty pool in passing, bemoaning the fact that my kids lost my goggles and I would have to wait some more before I finally got to take my initial dip.
Wifey had long since settled on the treadmill to walk her miles while I decided to use the elliptical thingy next to her that sorta resembled a bike with arm swinging things attached. Modern technology at it's finest I must say for the pro-grammatical contraption actually had a 10K selection, so once I entered all my weight, age and level data I was pumping along while mesmerized by all the statistical data this thing was spitting back at me on it's big panel right in front of me: Calories burned, time, heart rate, percentages of this and that, miles to go, Mets produced (what the hell is that?), pretty little dots telling me what level of resistance I had to sweat through and for how much longer. All the while I was jamming away on my iPod to Green Day, Oasis and a bunch of other 90's rock stuff intermingled by the occasional country bumpkin tune or top 100 song from the 60's. This was way more my speed than having my legs burn in agony limping along the track trying to imitate Roberto Salazar. Seeing my hockey buddies and talking to them a bit while I explained why they were so shocked to see us in the gym helped kill the time even more.
Don't get me wrong, this machine did make my thighs burn like a mother and I was sweating like a virgin in jail but I was able to churn out six miles in 30 minutes. Don't ask me what the other stats said, I wasn't in the mood to know that all that working out only burned enough calories to equate to eating a Halloween-sized twix bar. It was only when I got up did I realize the extent of the damage I did to my thighs. Yes, I was breathing like a beached flounder but worse was the non-response my thighs were told to do--walk you morons! At least hold me upright! Ok, so I had to sit down again and regroup before my second attempt was successful. Though my calf and back felt better from yesterdays onslaught now I had a whole new joy of dull throbbing leg pain to deal with. This subsided gradually as I sauntered ever so slowly over to our locker to retrieve our belongings. I repeated the painfully slow ritual of putting on my sweatpants and fleece jacket while the wife confessed that her non-stretching had produced tight as hell hamstrings from her treadmill walking. I can only imagine the thoughts going through all the 20-something's heads as they looked at us two decrepit gimps holding onto the stair railings making our way down to the first floor. Oh, we aim to please!
Actually, we seemed to get better the more we walked it off. Staci made a wonderful 20-minute supper since it was getting near 8 o'clock by the time we came back home to the dogs. I fell asleep soon after watching some Cocaine Cowboy documentary on Showtime about some woman Colombian drug-billionaire named the Godmother. I'll tell you one thing, this training program does make me tired and I sleep like the dead, barely flinching for eight hours before the sun wakes me up in the morning. So I have that going for me....
Tomorrow is the dreaded TWO mile run--from the Downtown Y up Franklin Street on VCU's campus to Stuart Circle (Confederate cavalry General JEB Stuart for all you history buffs out there) and back again. We're to go at a steady pace which I pray to God my calf or back or thighs or eyeballs don't shut down prematurely and make me look like a pansy and have to walk with the retirees. This weeks worth of training BETTER start paying off some dividends soon cuz it's only gonna get worse and so far all I've garnered is a bunch of painful reminders anytime I take a step. At least my new tub of Xtend came in the mail yesterday. Maybe if I suck a bunch of that down before, during and after the run I just might be able to make it to the car without crawling? I'll let you all know how that goes over the weekend if my new power cord actually works at charging my laptop which hasn't worked lo these past six months. ( Note: buying rip-off knockoffs that advertise they will work just like the manufacturer at half the price is a bunch of bull! Don't be tempted! )
That's good advice--write that down.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Yes, alcohol abuse will make your body hate you!
Our lovely training regimen had us up our running mileage to 1.5 miles for Wednesday evening. I guess it's to start increasing our distance and stamina for the coming weeks, but it mights as well have been 150 miles! Alas, we came home from work, quickly changed and headed right back out to the gym in a snow storm to the chagrin of the dogs who hadn't seen us all day. How's that for dedication? True, we do have a 4-wheel drive Suburban that can climb mountains in a blizzard (that was put to the test when we came home from Boone, NC a few years ago!) but it would have been SO much easier to sit and watch the snow fall in the comfort of our 1920's Victorian 4-square with scalding radiator heat drying our skin out even more.
I was feeling good--no soreness to speak of since I had a day of rest and was almost resigned to the fact I could do this without too much agony. Staci (aka Wifey) was gonna run the treadmill instead of the indoor track at our gym (VCU's Cary Street Gym boasts the largest amount of gym equipment under one roof in the whole state of Virginia) while I was going to continue my so-called mastery of the track. I re-calculated the laps to 13 in my head and again mimicked the stretching exercises that the "in-shape" runners were doing.
This time I brought a water bottle that I strategically placed in the corner in case dry-mouth set in then began my "easy" 1.5 mile jog. I plugged my iPod into my ears jammin' to 80's hair band rock (please stifle your giggles) and off I went. The first lap was a breeze setting my pace and dodging the walkers on the track that think walking three abreast is ok. Again the speed runners whisked by me including girls that had this running thing done pat. I looked very much the novice trying to focus on Poison songs and counting my laps while trying not to jam up the traffic. By the second lap my breathing rate had intensified to lung cancer patient and by the third the sweat began pouring freely from my brow as if I was taking a test I hadn't studied for!
Now I thought my leg muscles had started to get used to this abuse but as I continued to pound away on them aided by my hard-earned 40 lbs bourbon gut to help intensify their agony, my left calf began sending an oh-so familiar pain signal through my basil ganglia to my cerebral cortex letting me know very plainly that it was not a happy camper. Add to it that for some reason my lower back began to ache from the pounding and that had never happened before. It wasn't premenstrual cramps nor failure to wear a weight belt. My ass is flat out of shape! I mean, who hurts themselves RUNNING? Aren't we humans perfectly modeled bi-peds, evolutionarily descended from apes or God's image (or whatever floats your boat) to be able to run without torture? This just sucks!
I managed to gimp my way a mile before stopping to suck down a few gulps from my strategically placed water bottle to lessen the severity of the Gobi Desert now residing in my throat, interrupted at regular intervals to inhale, gulp, then exhale in rapid succession. I was sweating rather steadily by now, black lycra VCU-emblem running shirt thankfully hiding the true degree of water loss only because it is colored black. I needed to figure out this awful reality of mine by joining the walker group for a couple of laps and pretending to fix my iPod. Two laps later I had recouped enough to try and stagger back into line with the joggers, this time elongating my stride in an attempt to lessen the severity of newly acquired back pain and hurry the hell up the last few laps to get in the 1.5 mile distance. My legs didn't want to do this but mind over matter prevailed, sorta, as I forced them back into the rhythm I had them going previously.
I suppose it was mission accomplished, but I felt rather dejected. I didn't run the complete time. My aged body cheated me out of what I was hoping would be a lighthearted stroll through the snow back to the Suburban. Rather, I found the wife beaming at her 1.55 mile accomplishment on the treadmill in 27 minutes, once I limped my ragged ass over to her through the throngs of fit nubiles running along at top speed or peddling away on stationary bikes as if in the Tour de France (ok, I did see a FEW fatties, but not enough to make the odds even! And why weren't they sweating like me anyway?? Must be a pacing thing.) I sat and listened to her exulting the fact she had never done such ever before. I professed my pride in her as I struggled to put my warm-up pants back over my shoes and sweat(y) shorts. This was a struggle I rather not have had to do in public but oh well. Balance was the furthest thing from my mind. All I was looking forward to was getting back to my couch at home and not moving for the foreseeable future.
No Advil, Aleve or Xtend awaited me at home cuz we're all out. Just pain, soreness and dull hunger pangs. Jonah Hex was not the movie I had hoped for either. Bedtime was never so welcomed! At least tonight we're scheduled for "cross-training"--anything other than running. Thank GAWD! The gym has this ridiculously sized salt-water swimming pool with lap lanes, whirlpools, hot tubs and even a water slide with waterfall. I plan to test them all out as if I was ten years old again, that is, if my body will allow it. The plan is to swim 20 laps. I'll let ya know how THAT goes tomorrow. By the way, where are my goggles and do I even own a bathing suit that fits? Last thing I wanna do is look like a Jersey shore beach bum with a beer gut wearing a flower-paisley 70's bathing suit with built-in belt buckle and white socks stuffed in brown sandals!
I was feeling good--no soreness to speak of since I had a day of rest and was almost resigned to the fact I could do this without too much agony. Staci (aka Wifey) was gonna run the treadmill instead of the indoor track at our gym (VCU's Cary Street Gym boasts the largest amount of gym equipment under one roof in the whole state of Virginia) while I was going to continue my so-called mastery of the track. I re-calculated the laps to 13 in my head and again mimicked the stretching exercises that the "in-shape" runners were doing.
This time I brought a water bottle that I strategically placed in the corner in case dry-mouth set in then began my "easy" 1.5 mile jog. I plugged my iPod into my ears jammin' to 80's hair band rock (please stifle your giggles) and off I went. The first lap was a breeze setting my pace and dodging the walkers on the track that think walking three abreast is ok. Again the speed runners whisked by me including girls that had this running thing done pat. I looked very much the novice trying to focus on Poison songs and counting my laps while trying not to jam up the traffic. By the second lap my breathing rate had intensified to lung cancer patient and by the third the sweat began pouring freely from my brow as if I was taking a test I hadn't studied for!
Now I thought my leg muscles had started to get used to this abuse but as I continued to pound away on them aided by my hard-earned 40 lbs bourbon gut to help intensify their agony, my left calf began sending an oh-so familiar pain signal through my basil ganglia to my cerebral cortex letting me know very plainly that it was not a happy camper. Add to it that for some reason my lower back began to ache from the pounding and that had never happened before. It wasn't premenstrual cramps nor failure to wear a weight belt. My ass is flat out of shape! I mean, who hurts themselves RUNNING? Aren't we humans perfectly modeled bi-peds, evolutionarily descended from apes or God's image (or whatever floats your boat) to be able to run without torture? This just sucks!
I managed to gimp my way a mile before stopping to suck down a few gulps from my strategically placed water bottle to lessen the severity of the Gobi Desert now residing in my throat, interrupted at regular intervals to inhale, gulp, then exhale in rapid succession. I was sweating rather steadily by now, black lycra VCU-emblem running shirt thankfully hiding the true degree of water loss only because it is colored black. I needed to figure out this awful reality of mine by joining the walker group for a couple of laps and pretending to fix my iPod. Two laps later I had recouped enough to try and stagger back into line with the joggers, this time elongating my stride in an attempt to lessen the severity of newly acquired back pain and hurry the hell up the last few laps to get in the 1.5 mile distance. My legs didn't want to do this but mind over matter prevailed, sorta, as I forced them back into the rhythm I had them going previously.
I suppose it was mission accomplished, but I felt rather dejected. I didn't run the complete time. My aged body cheated me out of what I was hoping would be a lighthearted stroll through the snow back to the Suburban. Rather, I found the wife beaming at her 1.55 mile accomplishment on the treadmill in 27 minutes, once I limped my ragged ass over to her through the throngs of fit nubiles running along at top speed or peddling away on stationary bikes as if in the Tour de France (ok, I did see a FEW fatties, but not enough to make the odds even! And why weren't they sweating like me anyway?? Must be a pacing thing.) I sat and listened to her exulting the fact she had never done such ever before. I professed my pride in her as I struggled to put my warm-up pants back over my shoes and sweat(y) shorts. This was a struggle I rather not have had to do in public but oh well. Balance was the furthest thing from my mind. All I was looking forward to was getting back to my couch at home and not moving for the foreseeable future.
No Advil, Aleve or Xtend awaited me at home cuz we're all out. Just pain, soreness and dull hunger pangs. Jonah Hex was not the movie I had hoped for either. Bedtime was never so welcomed! At least tonight we're scheduled for "cross-training"--anything other than running. Thank GAWD! The gym has this ridiculously sized salt-water swimming pool with lap lanes, whirlpools, hot tubs and even a water slide with waterfall. I plan to test them all out as if I was ten years old again, that is, if my body will allow it. The plan is to swim 20 laps. I'll let ya know how THAT goes tomorrow. By the way, where are my goggles and do I even own a bathing suit that fits? Last thing I wanna do is look like a Jersey shore beach bum with a beer gut wearing a flower-paisley 70's bathing suit with built-in belt buckle and white socks stuffed in brown sandals!
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Let the training (and pain!) begin
January 25, 2011
Week 1
So to knock off a bucket list item from my life's "to-do's", my wife and I decided to embark on a ten week journey to train for the Richmond 10K this April. I blog this in an attempt to share the agony and joys (?) of such an endeavor.
First some background: Since I've been re-married, life has been one never-ending party trying to catch up on the 15 year absence between the last time we saw each other back in our college days. Nine years of drinking and eating has put on a 40 lbs bulge that just doesn't want to go away on it's own. Hanging with 20-somethings that can eat and drink whatever they choose doesn't make for good role models, although we try our best to teach them how it was done back in our glory days in the 80's. Now we're in our mid-forties and trying desperately not to age before our time! But the old waist line isn't forgiving to the abuse I've bestowed. And then to see my friends of all ages running in these races, I'm like "Why can't I do that?" I was an athlete once upon a time! Of course my body hadn't seen any regular exercise other than the occasional, and very sporadic trip to the gym since the last time I played a real game of basketball in 1991! An early marriage and 3 kids kinda of put a damper on stuff like playing sports for fun.
So with the urging of one of our 20-something friends whose been running these things for a few years after experiencing similar issues (the names have been omitted to protect the innocent), we paid our fees and made the decision to see this thing through until the end. My brothers birthday, January 22nd, was our official indoctrination to the Sportsbacker's 10K Training Program at the ungodly hour of 8 am on a Saturday morning at the downtown YMCA, meaning no Friday night drinking! Egads! Add to it, the weather was a balmy 19 degrees. Oh what fun!
I was fairly surprised to see 300 or so other participants in our "Novice" group join us to get the low down from our trainers and do some warm-up calisthenics. We did some stretches, some deep knee bends, some jumping jacks; standard fare to get the old heart pumping and to ensure none of our sinews snapped once we dared the cold to run a slow mile. Now I hadn't run ten feet in the last 20 years so attempting an entire mile had me a tad nervous. The warm-up alone had my thighs burning and sweat dripping inside my 3 layers of clothing that I was told to wear. I was hoping that was the extent of the morning's training but no. So I actually enjoyed the blast of Arctic air to cool me down when I walked outside.
The first part of the morning jog along with 300 others was downhill so I was psyched into thinking this was gonna be a breeze. Once I got free of the jam of people I settled into a nice easy pace leaving the wife and some other female friends to fend for themselves. I was on a mission! Even when we headed uphill to the only major intersection we had to face I was still breathing easily. No sweat. Once across we made a lap around Monroe Park and headed back down toward the "Y". It was this return lap that my left calf began to alert me to the fact that I hadn't properly stretched it fully. My repaired right Achilles tendon from a volleyball fiasco from a few years ago was feeling just fine. Meanwhile my left was tightening up quicker than a used rubber band! My breathing was definitely becoming more labored and the stop at the intersection was my saving grace to recoup for the final quarter mile push.
Despite the brief respite and the downhill portion of the final quarter mile, I hit the proverbial "wall" when I had to run the last 100 yards uphill. I was spent, beaten, screaming for air and a leg splint! I doubt it took more than 15 minutes to make the entire mile lap, but I felt like it was 15 days. I had no spit in my mouth. My lips felt like cracked tissue paper. My heart was beating faster than a hummingbirds. My legs screamed in agony of having 250 lbs. repeatedly pound them into the ground. Only my feet wrapped in glorious $100 brand new running shoes gave me no grief. The rest of me was a complete wreck!
I sipped a bit of water although swallowing was now a real chore. I stretched repeatedly while waiting for my wife to show up, cursing the condition I had allowed my body to become! By the time I had cooled down my legs didn't want to work properly as I tried to get to my car a few blocks away. The pain would become a dull throb for the rest of the day and it wasn't even 9 am yet!
So last Sunday was an "off" day to rest and recuperate although house chores still held sway. Re-tiling and caulking the pantry was already on the "to-do" list with painting still to come. The wife took care of the tiling since she's a regular Tim the Tool man Taylor. I was on a ladder for two hours in a 5x5 space caulking every separation between ancient lumber. If it weren't for Aleve, icy-hot and Xtend bodybuilding supplement I don't think I would have even gotten outta bed. It was all we could do to make it upstairs to bed by 10 pm, looking and acting very much our age.
Funny thing was Monday I felt way better than I would have thought, knowing that we were suppose to run another mile on our own as part of the ongoing training regimen. I had slept like a baby and actually beat the alarm by a few minutes. My legs, and in particularly my left calf/Achilles, felt a WHOLE lot better so I was actually looking forward to seeing how long it would take me running before my body reminded me that I was a complete idiot for trying to damage me anymore beyond what it had already warned me about last Saturday. Wifey and I hit the indoor track at the gym around 6 pm since it was already dark outside. We did our stretching exercises, mimicking all the 20-something gym-rats who looked like they needed to eat more and work out less! How come you never see any fat people in a gym (except me, of course!)? Everyone in there looked like they were putting on their finishing touches for their Vogue modeling shoot the next day. And yet they were burning every last calorie out of their tiny bodies. Wasn't anybody other than me hungry? It was dinner time for Pete's sake!
It's 8 laps and change to run a mile on this track, depending on which lane you run in. I was determined to run the whole distance without stopping. Wifey decided to run/walk the thing so not to overdo it as recommended by our coaches. So I counted my laps by repeating in my head every lap I was currently running on every fourth beat. Ten or so minutes later I was amazingly exhausted, sweat-drenched, parched like the Sahara but finished nine laps without stopping! I can ride a stationary bike for 30 minutes clocking six or seven miles and never felt this spent. It took me five minutes of stiff-legged searching to find a damn water fountain, which of course was downstairs and hidden in an obscure corner. By the time I returned to search for my wife (who I lapped three times while she walked/jogged) she was finished and looking for me.
We had both finished our first training item on our ten-week course since the initial meet and greet (and run). Yes, my legs were again jello as we made our way back to the car, not a half and hour since I parked it, but feeling like I had just worked out for days. More Gatorade, Xtend and Aleve followed as part of our dinner. My legs slowly warmed to the idea I was helping to medicate them and sleep was never so wanted in all my life. All I wanted was to put my legs in a position where I wouldn't have to move them (or at least FEEL them) for the next eight hours. Mission accomplished! Today is a rest day and again my legs are not killing me but they do let me know occasionally that they are not happy with me. Tomorrow we up the distance to 1.5 miles (horrors!) and Thursday is a cross-training day--anything other than running. All this to lead up to the TWO mile run on Saturday. I can already hear my body wanting to strike.
Week 1
So to knock off a bucket list item from my life's "to-do's", my wife and I decided to embark on a ten week journey to train for the Richmond 10K this April. I blog this in an attempt to share the agony and joys (?) of such an endeavor.
First some background: Since I've been re-married, life has been one never-ending party trying to catch up on the 15 year absence between the last time we saw each other back in our college days. Nine years of drinking and eating has put on a 40 lbs bulge that just doesn't want to go away on it's own. Hanging with 20-somethings that can eat and drink whatever they choose doesn't make for good role models, although we try our best to teach them how it was done back in our glory days in the 80's. Now we're in our mid-forties and trying desperately not to age before our time! But the old waist line isn't forgiving to the abuse I've bestowed. And then to see my friends of all ages running in these races, I'm like "Why can't I do that?" I was an athlete once upon a time! Of course my body hadn't seen any regular exercise other than the occasional, and very sporadic trip to the gym since the last time I played a real game of basketball in 1991! An early marriage and 3 kids kinda of put a damper on stuff like playing sports for fun.
So with the urging of one of our 20-something friends whose been running these things for a few years after experiencing similar issues (the names have been omitted to protect the innocent), we paid our fees and made the decision to see this thing through until the end. My brothers birthday, January 22nd, was our official indoctrination to the Sportsbacker's 10K Training Program at the ungodly hour of 8 am on a Saturday morning at the downtown YMCA, meaning no Friday night drinking! Egads! Add to it, the weather was a balmy 19 degrees. Oh what fun!
I was fairly surprised to see 300 or so other participants in our "Novice" group join us to get the low down from our trainers and do some warm-up calisthenics. We did some stretches, some deep knee bends, some jumping jacks; standard fare to get the old heart pumping and to ensure none of our sinews snapped once we dared the cold to run a slow mile. Now I hadn't run ten feet in the last 20 years so attempting an entire mile had me a tad nervous. The warm-up alone had my thighs burning and sweat dripping inside my 3 layers of clothing that I was told to wear. I was hoping that was the extent of the morning's training but no. So I actually enjoyed the blast of Arctic air to cool me down when I walked outside.
The first part of the morning jog along with 300 others was downhill so I was psyched into thinking this was gonna be a breeze. Once I got free of the jam of people I settled into a nice easy pace leaving the wife and some other female friends to fend for themselves. I was on a mission! Even when we headed uphill to the only major intersection we had to face I was still breathing easily. No sweat. Once across we made a lap around Monroe Park and headed back down toward the "Y". It was this return lap that my left calf began to alert me to the fact that I hadn't properly stretched it fully. My repaired right Achilles tendon from a volleyball fiasco from a few years ago was feeling just fine. Meanwhile my left was tightening up quicker than a used rubber band! My breathing was definitely becoming more labored and the stop at the intersection was my saving grace to recoup for the final quarter mile push.
Despite the brief respite and the downhill portion of the final quarter mile, I hit the proverbial "wall" when I had to run the last 100 yards uphill. I was spent, beaten, screaming for air and a leg splint! I doubt it took more than 15 minutes to make the entire mile lap, but I felt like it was 15 days. I had no spit in my mouth. My lips felt like cracked tissue paper. My heart was beating faster than a hummingbirds. My legs screamed in agony of having 250 lbs. repeatedly pound them into the ground. Only my feet wrapped in glorious $100 brand new running shoes gave me no grief. The rest of me was a complete wreck!
I sipped a bit of water although swallowing was now a real chore. I stretched repeatedly while waiting for my wife to show up, cursing the condition I had allowed my body to become! By the time I had cooled down my legs didn't want to work properly as I tried to get to my car a few blocks away. The pain would become a dull throb for the rest of the day and it wasn't even 9 am yet!
So last Sunday was an "off" day to rest and recuperate although house chores still held sway. Re-tiling and caulking the pantry was already on the "to-do" list with painting still to come. The wife took care of the tiling since she's a regular Tim the Tool man Taylor. I was on a ladder for two hours in a 5x5 space caulking every separation between ancient lumber. If it weren't for Aleve, icy-hot and Xtend bodybuilding supplement I don't think I would have even gotten outta bed. It was all we could do to make it upstairs to bed by 10 pm, looking and acting very much our age.
Funny thing was Monday I felt way better than I would have thought, knowing that we were suppose to run another mile on our own as part of the ongoing training regimen. I had slept like a baby and actually beat the alarm by a few minutes. My legs, and in particularly my left calf/Achilles, felt a WHOLE lot better so I was actually looking forward to seeing how long it would take me running before my body reminded me that I was a complete idiot for trying to damage me anymore beyond what it had already warned me about last Saturday. Wifey and I hit the indoor track at the gym around 6 pm since it was already dark outside. We did our stretching exercises, mimicking all the 20-something gym-rats who looked like they needed to eat more and work out less! How come you never see any fat people in a gym (except me, of course!)? Everyone in there looked like they were putting on their finishing touches for their Vogue modeling shoot the next day. And yet they were burning every last calorie out of their tiny bodies. Wasn't anybody other than me hungry? It was dinner time for Pete's sake!
It's 8 laps and change to run a mile on this track, depending on which lane you run in. I was determined to run the whole distance without stopping. Wifey decided to run/walk the thing so not to overdo it as recommended by our coaches. So I counted my laps by repeating in my head every lap I was currently running on every fourth beat. Ten or so minutes later I was amazingly exhausted, sweat-drenched, parched like the Sahara but finished nine laps without stopping! I can ride a stationary bike for 30 minutes clocking six or seven miles and never felt this spent. It took me five minutes of stiff-legged searching to find a damn water fountain, which of course was downstairs and hidden in an obscure corner. By the time I returned to search for my wife (who I lapped three times while she walked/jogged) she was finished and looking for me.
We had both finished our first training item on our ten-week course since the initial meet and greet (and run). Yes, my legs were again jello as we made our way back to the car, not a half and hour since I parked it, but feeling like I had just worked out for days. More Gatorade, Xtend and Aleve followed as part of our dinner. My legs slowly warmed to the idea I was helping to medicate them and sleep was never so wanted in all my life. All I wanted was to put my legs in a position where I wouldn't have to move them (or at least FEEL them) for the next eight hours. Mission accomplished! Today is a rest day and again my legs are not killing me but they do let me know occasionally that they are not happy with me. Tomorrow we up the distance to 1.5 miles (horrors!) and Thursday is a cross-training day--anything other than running. All this to lead up to the TWO mile run on Saturday. I can already hear my body wanting to strike.
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