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!
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