Kill Me Now
Outside of work (and school in my former life), I’m not very good at follow-through. Sometimes I feel like I have a split personality; at work, I’m very organized and excel at meeting deadlines, but at home I’m sloppy and basically just lazy. I can’t even begin to tell you the number of projects I’ve started then abandoned. My Star Wars room, for instance, is terribly lonely in its disheveled state because I’ve yet to build the gumption to assemble the remaining shelves.
And then there’s the infamous “30 Through 30” list of goals. Two of the loftier ambitions are to work down to my goal weight and run a 5K.
I know I can work off the excess weight, came awfully close back in 2011. Using the elliptical machine almost daily—it was a very angry time in my life, and the exercise was a great outlet—I got within 10 pounds of my goal. When things started going better—life got happy again—I traded the elliptical for the couch. To no one’s surprise, the weight crept back and I had to dig out the double-digit jeans once more.
Couldn’t I simply start using the elliptical machine again? Of course. But that would require willpower, of which I have precious little. And if I’m going to do this stupid 5K thing, what better way to train than by running?! Killing two birds with one stone and all that.
One little problem: I hate running. It’s stupid, and I hate it. And it hates me. Lots.
I can say this definitively because I started my conditioning Sunday with the Couch to 5K app. It sounds easy enough… 5 minutes of brisk walking to warm up. Alternating 60 seconds jogging with 90 seconds walking for a total of 20 minutes. 5 minutes of walking to cool down.
Let me tell you, friends, I started strong with the walking. I’m kind of a rock start like that.
Then came the longest 60 seconds of my life. The 60 seconds which morphed into the longest 20 minutes of my life.
The 20 minutes during which I hoped that Death itself might lurk in the path ahead. No luck.
Severus joined me, offering continuous encouragement (and, consequently, infuriating me). He means well and I appreciate it deep down, but I don’t particularly enjoy motivational speaking when it comes to exercise. I can do without being told I’m “doing a good job” and that I’ll “make it.” I merely want to have someone present to listen to me reiterate how stupid running is, keep me from spewing profanities around the neighborhood and carry me home if I collapse.
The alleged “runner’s high” is totally lost on me. My body protests, not welcoming the re-discovered muscles I forgot I had. But I survived. I’ll get in shape and run a 5K this year if it’s the last thing I do…and at this rate, it might be.