Reading my Facebook feed today, it would appear that this is a day to look back on what I've done this year and set goals for the future.
I've never been good with resolutions set for resolutions' sake. I'm not a fan of them, generally speaking, and so I'm making an effort to not set grand yearly goals. Instead, I'm looking at smaller pictures, the sort I'll need to stay on the long-term fitness plan I've begun.
In November, I logged 11.2mi on the treadmill. December recorded 21.2mi.
So, goal number one: Put in 30mi on the treadmill in January.
This means I'll need to stop concentrating on speed, which was a huge burden on my developing legs, and start concentrating on longevity. Probably a good idea.
I've been skipping the weights lately, in favor of cardio. I don't like being at the gym for more than an hour in the evenings, since I work until 6pm and need to get home at a reasonable time. But I need to start finding time for my weights. It's too important.
Things brings me to goal number two: Put in two extra sessions per week to work on weights.
I can put in a long session on weekends to get it done, I can go in before work, or I can run to the gym on lunch to hit my major muscle groups. However I get it done is fine. I just need to get it done. Two times per week.
October 13, I weighed in at 238. November 27, I weighed in at 228. Yesterday, the number was 224. This month was disappointing, yet totally and utterly normal. It's taken me three weeks to accept that fact. I learned, through this disappointment, that the process is the important part. Numbers are secondary.
So instead of setting silly, depressing goals in pounds, I have goal number three: Stay faithful to my food plan every day.
Some days, I'll slip up. There will be days when I choose chocolate for a snack, and there will be many more days when I reach for carbonated drinks. But I will log what I do, I will pay attention, and I won't fool myself into thinking it doesn't matter. It all matters.
There's a difference between accepting my mistakes and pretending I never made them in the first place. If I want to succeed, I need to remember the difference.
So there are my three goals, for now: 30mi on the treadmill in January, two days a week on weights, and keep logging the foods I eat every day.
By the end of the month, I hope to have made tremendous gains over December. Today was a much-appreciated day off from the gym. Can't wait to get back in there tomorrow and start on the new goals!
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Enjoying the process
When I started getting good results early on, this gym business became all about the results. When I didn't see those results, I was upset. I pushed myself harder than I should have.
Today, I re-evaluated what I'm doing. Yes, results are important. But this, it's about the process, because really, what I'm doing here is a process. There is no end point to fitness, not if you're doing it for the right reasons.
When I went into the gym after work today, I took a giant step back. Deliberately. I slowed the treadmill to what I was running a month ago, and instead of pounding my body in pursuit of a faster time, I just let myself run.
For the first time in weeks, I enjoyed it again. Before I knew it, two miles were up, and that was that.
I certainly didn't set any records. I wasn't even paying attention. That was the difference.
I'm sure there will come a time in the near future when I'll run to beat my best time again. In the meantime, I'll appreciate this opportunity I've been given.
And I'll have fun.
Today, I re-evaluated what I'm doing. Yes, results are important. But this, it's about the process, because really, what I'm doing here is a process. There is no end point to fitness, not if you're doing it for the right reasons.
When I went into the gym after work today, I took a giant step back. Deliberately. I slowed the treadmill to what I was running a month ago, and instead of pounding my body in pursuit of a faster time, I just let myself run.
For the first time in weeks, I enjoyed it again. Before I knew it, two miles were up, and that was that.
I certainly didn't set any records. I wasn't even paying attention. That was the difference.
I'm sure there will come a time in the near future when I'll run to beat my best time again. In the meantime, I'll appreciate this opportunity I've been given.
And I'll have fun.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Post-Christmas training, taking no prisoners
Every time I sneeze, it sounds like this:
Achoo "Ow."
In other words, the ab workout I did at the end of last night's session was a success.
Training last night with J was another arms night, which was nice. My left leg has been sore - more on that later - and I wasn't looking forward to dealing with a legs night after two days off from the gym and a morning of being hung over.
We hit the arms hard, increasing weight on my bicep curls and visiting some new machines for chest and shoulder presses. The weight was heavy enough that J stepped in to help on some of my lifts, when I was getting dangerously close to smacking myself in the head with my 20-lb dumbbells.
He's such a nice boy.
"So," he asked after the first 40 minutes or so, "have we done more with incline push ups or triceps dips?"
"We haven't done triceps dips yet."
"Really?" And he got this smile.
"... Can I take that back? Just forget I said it."
I don't trust that smile.
So. We did triceps dips. What are triceps dips? They're jerks, is what they are. Horrible, horrible things created by people who hate people.
They're also amazing exercises that can be done anywhere you find a sturdy chair and a few minutes of peace. They look like this:
At least, they look like that when done by a skinny, fit woman with tremendous muscle control. When done by me, they quiver a lot more. And my chins jiggle. But that's part of the fitness curve. Every rep that looks ugly today will look good later. There's no easy way.
After the shoulders, chest, back, and arms had been abused sufficiently, we wrapped up with abs. We did short timed circuits, consisting of 30-seconds of sit ups with legs extended flat, 30-seconds of leg raises, 30-seconds of heel touches, and one minute of rest. Then do it again. And again.
I think I shall call this particular circuit "I hate my abs."
All things considered, it was a great night. It felt fantastic to be back in the gym and the session beat back some of the negativity that always starts to boil when I'm away for too long. Attitude: adjusted.
In other news, I'm laid up from running (again), this time due to the iliopsoas of my left leg. The front of my hip started aching last week while I was running, with accompanying tightness in the left side of my lower back. I didn't realize at the time that those two things correspond, but surprise!
Hoping to make a trip to the chiropractor soon to have my lower back addressed, and I'm hoping that the leg will follow. Meanwhile, I'm reading up on additional running stretches, using other cardio machines that don't stretch my hip as far as running does. We'll see how a few days off from running feel.
Achoo "Ow."
In other words, the ab workout I did at the end of last night's session was a success.
Training last night with J was another arms night, which was nice. My left leg has been sore - more on that later - and I wasn't looking forward to dealing with a legs night after two days off from the gym and a morning of being hung over.
We hit the arms hard, increasing weight on my bicep curls and visiting some new machines for chest and shoulder presses. The weight was heavy enough that J stepped in to help on some of my lifts, when I was getting dangerously close to smacking myself in the head with my 20-lb dumbbells.
He's such a nice boy.
"So," he asked after the first 40 minutes or so, "have we done more with incline push ups or triceps dips?"
"We haven't done triceps dips yet."
"Really?" And he got this smile.
"... Can I take that back? Just forget I said it."
I don't trust that smile.
So. We did triceps dips. What are triceps dips? They're jerks, is what they are. Horrible, horrible things created by people who hate people.
They're also amazing exercises that can be done anywhere you find a sturdy chair and a few minutes of peace. They look like this:
At least, they look like that when done by a skinny, fit woman with tremendous muscle control. When done by me, they quiver a lot more. And my chins jiggle. But that's part of the fitness curve. Every rep that looks ugly today will look good later. There's no easy way.
After the shoulders, chest, back, and arms had been abused sufficiently, we wrapped up with abs. We did short timed circuits, consisting of 30-seconds of sit ups with legs extended flat, 30-seconds of leg raises, 30-seconds of heel touches, and one minute of rest. Then do it again. And again.
I think I shall call this particular circuit "I hate my abs."
All things considered, it was a great night. It felt fantastic to be back in the gym and the session beat back some of the negativity that always starts to boil when I'm away for too long. Attitude: adjusted.
In other news, I'm laid up from running (again), this time due to the iliopsoas of my left leg. The front of my hip started aching last week while I was running, with accompanying tightness in the left side of my lower back. I didn't realize at the time that those two things correspond, but surprise!
Hoping to make a trip to the chiropractor soon to have my lower back addressed, and I'm hoping that the leg will follow. Meanwhile, I'm reading up on additional running stretches, using other cardio machines that don't stretch my hip as far as running does. We'll see how a few days off from running feel.
Monday, December 26, 2011
For Christmas, I got myself a hangover
I know you're jealous.
This year's Christmas was unconventional, a buffet of snacky foods taken at a destination with all members of the family accounted for. It was nice to come and go as I pleased, eating whatever sounded good whenever it sounded best.
But alas, 75% of the foods on display included some form of chocolate. Brownies, chocolate chip cookies, chocolate-covered Oreos, chocolate chip bars, chocolate-dipped pretzels, chocolate fudge, chocolate candies of all varieties, etc etc. It was a cheat day, I told myself, so it would be okay to just eat and not count the calories.
I was half right. It is okay to eat sometimes and not worry about the calories. We're all allowed to take a break from the micromanaging.
Where I was wrong was that it really isn't okay to eat whatever I want. When I forget this, my body reminds me.
And so it did early this morning, around 6am, when I first woke up and laid in bed feeling entirely nauseous. It was the sort of barfy feeling where you're not sure that the act of vomiting would help, and so you need to accept that it isn't getting better and you just need to deal with it. I dealt with it by curling up in a ball in an armchair all morning, apathetically watching the ensuing post-Christmas festivities continue around me.
These lessons are hard to learn. This was my second time being acquainted with what garbage food does to the body. I remember being very upset the first time, but hey, it was a new concept. Why I thought I could get away with again, I don't know.
NEWS FLASH! It didn't work. It won't work next time, either, and there will be a next time. And a time after that. But someday, these lessons will stick.
Until then, there will be these posts.
One more weekend left of the holiday season. One more weekend of indulgence to endure before life is back to normal. I think I'm ready.
This year's Christmas was unconventional, a buffet of snacky foods taken at a destination with all members of the family accounted for. It was nice to come and go as I pleased, eating whatever sounded good whenever it sounded best.
But alas, 75% of the foods on display included some form of chocolate. Brownies, chocolate chip cookies, chocolate-covered Oreos, chocolate chip bars, chocolate-dipped pretzels, chocolate fudge, chocolate candies of all varieties, etc etc. It was a cheat day, I told myself, so it would be okay to just eat and not count the calories.
I was half right. It is okay to eat sometimes and not worry about the calories. We're all allowed to take a break from the micromanaging.
Where I was wrong was that it really isn't okay to eat whatever I want. When I forget this, my body reminds me.
And so it did early this morning, around 6am, when I first woke up and laid in bed feeling entirely nauseous. It was the sort of barfy feeling where you're not sure that the act of vomiting would help, and so you need to accept that it isn't getting better and you just need to deal with it. I dealt with it by curling up in a ball in an armchair all morning, apathetically watching the ensuing post-Christmas festivities continue around me.
These lessons are hard to learn. This was my second time being acquainted with what garbage food does to the body. I remember being very upset the first time, but hey, it was a new concept. Why I thought I could get away with again, I don't know.
NEWS FLASH! It didn't work. It won't work next time, either, and there will be a next time. And a time after that. But someday, these lessons will stick.
Until then, there will be these posts.
One more weekend left of the holiday season. One more weekend of indulgence to endure before life is back to normal. I think I'm ready.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Surpriiiiise evaluation!
Training with J was tonight, a departure from the usual Monday night session. After last night's mess on the treadmill, I wasn't looking forward to it. Legs. It was bound to be.
"What would you say if I said we should have an evaluation tonight?" These were the first words J said to me tonight.
I must have looked stunned, because he backpedaled. "I mean, if that's okay. It's been 30 days exactly..." and he kept going until I interrupted.
"No, that's fine. I just... that's fine." I blinked. "I usually cram before these things, though. Like, sit-ups every day all week. But, um. Okay!"
I weighed-in, which was very anti-climactic. 226 on the scale today, a bit higher than last week's 225. This puts me down twelve pounds since I started two months ago, which J said is "Awesome!"
When I drop eight pounds the first month and only four the second, I don't feel particularly awesome, but he's the expert here. So we'll go with awesome.
Measurements were mixed. Upper-body measurements stayed roughly the same while I lost inches off the waist, hips, and thigh. No wonder I can fit into my pants again!
The performance part of the evaluation went much better. I maxed out my reps on the leg press and chest press at a considerably higher weight than I did last month. I nearly maxed my lat pulldowns at 15lbs higher than last month. I made gains in the sit-ups, exceeding my previous mark of 50 in one minute, and did likewise in push-ups when I made 41 in one minute.
From the knees, folks. It's how I roll.
My run was average, pulling .89mi in 12:00. Better than last month by .07mi and only slightly off my current mile pace.
Also, I was on the squeakiest machine in the building. Every step was accompanied by the creaking of the belt and a slight rattle as my bulk thumped down on it. It was hot, people. So considering that my zen was thrown off by the unintended rhythm of a noisy machine, not to mention my self-esteem, I suppose I did pretty well.
Overall, a decent night. I want better numbers on the scale, but I keep reminding myself that plateaus are normal and I'm still new to all of this. Fitness is a life-long journey. Two months is nothing.
And really, even if I stick to this comparatively-slow pace of four pounds lost per month, you know what that means? Next year at this time, I'll be down nearly fifty pounds.
I'd be a fool to complain about that.
"What would you say if I said we should have an evaluation tonight?" These were the first words J said to me tonight.
I must have looked stunned, because he backpedaled. "I mean, if that's okay. It's been 30 days exactly..." and he kept going until I interrupted.
"No, that's fine. I just... that's fine." I blinked. "I usually cram before these things, though. Like, sit-ups every day all week. But, um. Okay!"
I weighed-in, which was very anti-climactic. 226 on the scale today, a bit higher than last week's 225. This puts me down twelve pounds since I started two months ago, which J said is "Awesome!"
When I drop eight pounds the first month and only four the second, I don't feel particularly awesome, but he's the expert here. So we'll go with awesome.
Measurements were mixed. Upper-body measurements stayed roughly the same while I lost inches off the waist, hips, and thigh. No wonder I can fit into my pants again!
The performance part of the evaluation went much better. I maxed out my reps on the leg press and chest press at a considerably higher weight than I did last month. I nearly maxed my lat pulldowns at 15lbs higher than last month. I made gains in the sit-ups, exceeding my previous mark of 50 in one minute, and did likewise in push-ups when I made 41 in one minute.
From the knees, folks. It's how I roll.
My run was average, pulling .89mi in 12:00. Better than last month by .07mi and only slightly off my current mile pace.
Also, I was on the squeakiest machine in the building. Every step was accompanied by the creaking of the belt and a slight rattle as my bulk thumped down on it. It was hot, people. So considering that my zen was thrown off by the unintended rhythm of a noisy machine, not to mention my self-esteem, I suppose I did pretty well.
Overall, a decent night. I want better numbers on the scale, but I keep reminding myself that plateaus are normal and I'm still new to all of this. Fitness is a life-long journey. Two months is nothing.
And really, even if I stick to this comparatively-slow pace of four pounds lost per month, you know what that means? Next year at this time, I'll be down nearly fifty pounds.
I'd be a fool to complain about that.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
The fatigue is setting in
Slowly but surely, I've been closing in on my next goal of breaking 13:00 on my mile.
My legs don't appreciate this.
See, when I'm approaching a new goal, I hit every session at the gym with renewed effort, doubling down in an effort to get it done. With my mile, this means that I've been breaking my own rules, like running before I had my new shoes, ignoring the signs of fatigue, and skipping days off.
I want it so badly, I'm hurting myself.
I was able to pick up the new shoes yesterday and they're every bit as wonderful as I'd hoped they would be. The shin splints abated immediately, but I discovered a new issue: these shoes are heavy. Not heavy enough to notice when walking, but after a few minutes of running, brand new parts of my legs started aching, and I got winded much more quickly.
After making gains over the weekend, my mile time was 14:00 tonight. Two steps forward, one step back.
More than that, though, I found myself hurting more than usual. The warm-up felt off, and after only two minutes of running, my body was hurting. I forced myself through that mile, berated myself for not trying harder, then mentally lectured myself for not stopping when I should have.
I'm considering the very real possibility that I'm over-training. It doesn't feel like I am, or like I should be. I'm running only a mile or two a day, five days a week. That's not much. But I need to remember that, for my fitness level and for the small amount of time I've been at this, it is much.
This is one of those days where I'm struggling to cut myself some slack and take a break.
On a more positive note, I'm pleased to report that I bravely weathered the task of holiday baking over the weekend with hardly a calorie ingested. Faced with several dozen cookies and chocolate-dipped goodies, the only thing that seemed worth indulging in was a single warm, melty chocolate chip cookie.
If ever anyone out there needed proof that we can change without meaning to, let this be evidence. I wanted to eat cookies. I really did. I was ready to eat them, en masse, and had planned my calories accordingly. I just... couldn't. They aren't delicious to me anymore.
I regard this as a bittersweet victory. Literally.
My legs don't appreciate this.
See, when I'm approaching a new goal, I hit every session at the gym with renewed effort, doubling down in an effort to get it done. With my mile, this means that I've been breaking my own rules, like running before I had my new shoes, ignoring the signs of fatigue, and skipping days off.
I want it so badly, I'm hurting myself.
I was able to pick up the new shoes yesterday and they're every bit as wonderful as I'd hoped they would be. The shin splints abated immediately, but I discovered a new issue: these shoes are heavy. Not heavy enough to notice when walking, but after a few minutes of running, brand new parts of my legs started aching, and I got winded much more quickly.
After making gains over the weekend, my mile time was 14:00 tonight. Two steps forward, one step back.
More than that, though, I found myself hurting more than usual. The warm-up felt off, and after only two minutes of running, my body was hurting. I forced myself through that mile, berated myself for not trying harder, then mentally lectured myself for not stopping when I should have.
I'm considering the very real possibility that I'm over-training. It doesn't feel like I am, or like I should be. I'm running only a mile or two a day, five days a week. That's not much. But I need to remember that, for my fitness level and for the small amount of time I've been at this, it is much.
This is one of those days where I'm struggling to cut myself some slack and take a break.
On a more positive note, I'm pleased to report that I bravely weathered the task of holiday baking over the weekend with hardly a calorie ingested. Faced with several dozen cookies and chocolate-dipped goodies, the only thing that seemed worth indulging in was a single warm, melty chocolate chip cookie.
If ever anyone out there needed proof that we can change without meaning to, let this be evidence. I wanted to eat cookies. I really did. I was ready to eat them, en masse, and had planned my calories accordingly. I just... couldn't. They aren't delicious to me anymore.
I regard this as a bittersweet victory. Literally.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
One of the cleverest fitness articles I've ever read
4 Stunning Revelations An Idiot Has About Running
If you're familiar with the website Cracked, you may have seen this article on running come across last month. I read it the day it was posted, I re-read it the next day, and I've read it regularly ever since. It sums up my experience with running 100%, in every way.
It's vulgar and occasionally offensive, like nearly everything on Cracked, but it's worth reading if you're a runner, if you've ever thought of running, or if you're terrified of even trying.
In other words, read it. Because it's true.
To get a little serious on this: #4 is of particular interest to me. Do you know, I was 30 years old before I discovered that I could run? I look forward to it every day, I let myself do it when I shouldn't (like today, eep!), and I'm sincerely upset when I can't do it. I feel like a lifetime of enjoyment - and fitness - was stolen from me by a physical education system designed to test children, not improve them and help them to reach their potential.
I could have been capable of so much more. It makes me very sad to think there are still kids out there, kids like I was, who are struggling because they haven't been taught that running is easier than they think. Kids who might be going down the same road to obesity that I traveled simply because they don't understand that the single easiest exercise in the world is within their grasp.
Kids deserve better.
If you're familiar with the website Cracked, you may have seen this article on running come across last month. I read it the day it was posted, I re-read it the next day, and I've read it regularly ever since. It sums up my experience with running 100%, in every way.
It's vulgar and occasionally offensive, like nearly everything on Cracked, but it's worth reading if you're a runner, if you've ever thought of running, or if you're terrified of even trying.
In other words, read it. Because it's true.
To get a little serious on this: #4 is of particular interest to me. Do you know, I was 30 years old before I discovered that I could run? I look forward to it every day, I let myself do it when I shouldn't (like today, eep!), and I'm sincerely upset when I can't do it. I feel like a lifetime of enjoyment - and fitness - was stolen from me by a physical education system designed to test children, not improve them and help them to reach their potential.
I could have been capable of so much more. It makes me very sad to think there are still kids out there, kids like I was, who are struggling because they haven't been taught that running is easier than they think. Kids who might be going down the same road to obesity that I traveled simply because they don't understand that the single easiest exercise in the world is within their grasp.
Kids deserve better.
Having faith in the process
I was doing a little interwebby fitness browsing and came across this great post over at Muscle & Fitness Hers:
Building Your Foundation by Pauline Nordin
A timely reminder during a week where I feel like much of my progress has ground to a halt. There is something happening here. Have faith.
Building Your Foundation by Pauline Nordin
A timely reminder during a week where I feel like much of my progress has ground to a halt. There is something happening here. Have faith.
Friday, December 16, 2011
What was that about best-laid plans?
Between my angry fit Monday, my new anti-flat-feeted shoes being back-ordered Tuesday, and an underwhelming day off on Wednesday, it's been a craptastic week.
So when everything, miraculously, came together last night, I was elated. I cranked up the speed on my running intervals, set a new personal best, and did it without getting shin splints. It just worked.
When I got home, my right leg (aka. the good leg) started aching. I thought maybe I'd bumped it on something, so I ignored it until this morning when, going down the stairs at home, my shin hurt with every step. Greeeeeat.
The pain isn't insistent, but it's there, threatening. I'm icing often and wrapping my leg, and it seems that running is out for now.
I can't possibly explain how unhappy this makes me.
When life gives you lemons, you throw them away, because really, screw lemons. You get on a bike instead. If what I'm battling is shin splints, it's the impact and my inappropriate shoes causing the problems, not exercise. So I took the time to warm up fully and hit the bikes.
It wasn't nearly as fulfilling, but it was something. And it burned a couple hundred calories, which is good, because the staff potluck at work today (and the unbelieeeeevable potatoes from a friend in accounting) made me exceed my allotted daily calories by 3pm. Oof.
Definitely didn't earn the ice cream cone I was hoping to have tomorrow. Whether or not I'll be mature enough to understand that when I'm staring those delicious scoops of peppermint bon bon remains to be seen.
What I'm saying is that I'm human. This week has been a comedy of errors, culminating in me being half-lame and piling on the holiday calories. But it happens, and perhaps the best demonstration of how much I've grown in this journey is the fact that I forgive myself for all of it.
I'd say tomorrow is a new day, but I'm pretty sure I'll have that ice cream cone. So. Sunday is a new day. A big, shiny, beautiful one. I'll shoot for that.
So when everything, miraculously, came together last night, I was elated. I cranked up the speed on my running intervals, set a new personal best, and did it without getting shin splints. It just worked.
When I got home, my right leg (aka. the good leg) started aching. I thought maybe I'd bumped it on something, so I ignored it until this morning when, going down the stairs at home, my shin hurt with every step. Greeeeeat.
The pain isn't insistent, but it's there, threatening. I'm icing often and wrapping my leg, and it seems that running is out for now.
I can't possibly explain how unhappy this makes me.
When life gives you lemons, you throw them away, because really, screw lemons. You get on a bike instead. If what I'm battling is shin splints, it's the impact and my inappropriate shoes causing the problems, not exercise. So I took the time to warm up fully and hit the bikes.
It wasn't nearly as fulfilling, but it was something. And it burned a couple hundred calories, which is good, because the staff potluck at work today (and the unbelieeeeevable potatoes from a friend in accounting) made me exceed my allotted daily calories by 3pm. Oof.
Definitely didn't earn the ice cream cone I was hoping to have tomorrow. Whether or not I'll be mature enough to understand that when I'm staring those delicious scoops of peppermint bon bon remains to be seen.
What I'm saying is that I'm human. This week has been a comedy of errors, culminating in me being half-lame and piling on the holiday calories. But it happens, and perhaps the best demonstration of how much I've grown in this journey is the fact that I forgive myself for all of it.
I'd say tomorrow is a new day, but I'm pretty sure I'll have that ice cream cone. So. Sunday is a new day. A big, shiny, beautiful one. I'll shoot for that.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Getting angry at the gym
J was worried about me tonight.
Every time he asked me if I was okay, I shook it off and pushed ahead. Of course I'm okay. Let's go. Next. The more he told me to take my time, the harder I bore down.
I was angry. Angry and emotional and struggling not to lose it in the gym.
Yesterday was a day off and I took it hard. I didn't want a day off. I wanted to be in there, working, making a difference. But my body had been protesting and I knew that I needed to rest if I wanted to make it through tonight. So I took my day off, but not without tearing myself down for it.
Your progress is slowing.
You're not losing enough weight.
You can do better.
By the time I got to the gym tonight, I was all full of angry at myself. Angry for being so negative when I'm doing so much good, angry for not doing better, angry about being angry. Etc.
I wasn't going to break down and cry in front of J. I'm an ugly crier, and I have a hunch that collapsing into a sobbing mess in the middle of the weight room wouldn't help my street cred. That left me with one option.
Make the anger worth it.
Tonight was all clenching teeth, squeezing abs, and unladylike vocalizations. I pushed and pulled and lifted more weight than I usually do. When J said that he wasn't sure if I'd be able to do the last move of the night in the manner he demonstrated, I made myself prove him wrong.
He told me, after we'd scheduled our next meeting, not to get discouraged. I smiled and said that I wouldn't.
I cried in the locker room anyway. It was a tired, feeble, un-ugly cry, suitable for public consumption. Frustrated tears for not moving fast enough for my idealistic goals, exhausted tears from having beat myself up and not feeling like I'd gained enough from it. No matter how well I understand this process and how normal I know that plateaus (perceived or otherwise) will be, I don't think they'll ever be easy to accept.
There was much good to be had tonight and maybe with a solid night's sleep I'll be able to appreciate those good points tomorrow. For now, a little wallowing and some quality time with a heating pad will need to do.
And maybe some Advil, because yikes. My body is killing me.
Lulz for tonight: J casually pointed out to me - after having been given the task of hopping on the treadmill, grabbing the handles, hunkering down like a mountain climber, and starting the treadmill with naught but my massively impressive legs - that I was breaking a sweat. He said this as the sweat dripped into my eyes and trickled down the small of my back. I'm pretty sure I was also panting openly.
Yes, J. Thank you. I'm glad you noticed.
Every time he asked me if I was okay, I shook it off and pushed ahead. Of course I'm okay. Let's go. Next. The more he told me to take my time, the harder I bore down.
I was angry. Angry and emotional and struggling not to lose it in the gym.
Yesterday was a day off and I took it hard. I didn't want a day off. I wanted to be in there, working, making a difference. But my body had been protesting and I knew that I needed to rest if I wanted to make it through tonight. So I took my day off, but not without tearing myself down for it.
Your progress is slowing.
You're not losing enough weight.
You can do better.
By the time I got to the gym tonight, I was all full of angry at myself. Angry for being so negative when I'm doing so much good, angry for not doing better, angry about being angry. Etc.
I wasn't going to break down and cry in front of J. I'm an ugly crier, and I have a hunch that collapsing into a sobbing mess in the middle of the weight room wouldn't help my street cred. That left me with one option.
Make the anger worth it.
Tonight was all clenching teeth, squeezing abs, and unladylike vocalizations. I pushed and pulled and lifted more weight than I usually do. When J said that he wasn't sure if I'd be able to do the last move of the night in the manner he demonstrated, I made myself prove him wrong.
He told me, after we'd scheduled our next meeting, not to get discouraged. I smiled and said that I wouldn't.
I cried in the locker room anyway. It was a tired, feeble, un-ugly cry, suitable for public consumption. Frustrated tears for not moving fast enough for my idealistic goals, exhausted tears from having beat myself up and not feeling like I'd gained enough from it. No matter how well I understand this process and how normal I know that plateaus (perceived or otherwise) will be, I don't think they'll ever be easy to accept.
There was much good to be had tonight and maybe with a solid night's sleep I'll be able to appreciate those good points tomorrow. For now, a little wallowing and some quality time with a heating pad will need to do.
And maybe some Advil, because yikes. My body is killing me.
Lulz for tonight: J casually pointed out to me - after having been given the task of hopping on the treadmill, grabbing the handles, hunkering down like a mountain climber, and starting the treadmill with naught but my massively impressive legs - that I was breaking a sweat. He said this as the sweat dripped into my eyes and trickled down the small of my back. I'm pretty sure I was also panting openly.
Yes, J. Thank you. I'm glad you noticed.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
The most expensive shoes I've ever bought
My shoes have been wearing down for a while and tell-tale aches have been starting in my legs, so last week I picked up another pair of shoes for the gym. They were a pair of Nikes, nothing terribly expensive, and I figured they'd do just fine.
Well, they didn't. I got blisters in the arch of one of my feet, and while I know that breaking in shoes can kinda suck, I was pretty sure that blisters don't belong there. I brought them back to the store this morning and began the search for a new pair of shoes, hopefully ones that wouldn't give me shin splints, which I get occasionally and are really starting to irritate me.
So I decided to stop into the local running store and see what they could tell me about my feet. The clerk watched me walk, then broke the news to me.
I have flat feet. Huh. Weird.
He asked my size and pulled a few pairs of shoes for me to try on. When I slipped on the first pair, it was like wrapping marshmallows around my feet and walking on clouds full of feathers and sunshine.
It was nice, is what I'm saying. I was in awe.
"Is this what feet are supposed to feel like?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
They weren't even the right size and I was ready to elope with them. This was serious.
And so I have a pair of these babies on order. See that copy there? Under the picture?
"The 1012 is ideal for high-mileage runners seeking maximum motion control."
I'm a runner. A real, live runner who has real running shoes. That feel like pillows of rainbows.
No, I can't really afford them. I almost barfed a little when I saw the price. But let's be honest: I can't really afford the trainer, either. Those monthly charges are going on a credit card. I couldn't continue down the path I was on, though, so I made a choice for my health at the expense of my finances. And these shoes took some consideration. In the end, I realized that every time I need to stop my training because my arches are sore, I'm wasting money. Every time I need to stop running because my shins are aching, I'm wasting money.
Not only that, but keeping my feet in unsuitable footwear is putting myself in real physical harm. Chronic shin splints can lead to much more serious problems, and my knee certainly can't bear any burdens if my other parts begin to bail out.
Sometimes, putting yourself first is hard. Sometimes, it's expensive. But sometimes, it's necessary. Welcome to my life, little shoes. You'd better last a good, long time.
Well, they didn't. I got blisters in the arch of one of my feet, and while I know that breaking in shoes can kinda suck, I was pretty sure that blisters don't belong there. I brought them back to the store this morning and began the search for a new pair of shoes, hopefully ones that wouldn't give me shin splints, which I get occasionally and are really starting to irritate me.
So I decided to stop into the local running store and see what they could tell me about my feet. The clerk watched me walk, then broke the news to me.
I have flat feet. Huh. Weird.
He asked my size and pulled a few pairs of shoes for me to try on. When I slipped on the first pair, it was like wrapping marshmallows around my feet and walking on clouds full of feathers and sunshine.
It was nice, is what I'm saying. I was in awe.
"Is this what feet are supposed to feel like?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
They weren't even the right size and I was ready to elope with them. This was serious.
And so I have a pair of these babies on order. See that copy there? Under the picture?
"The 1012 is ideal for high-mileage runners seeking maximum motion control."
I'm a runner. A real, live runner who has real running shoes. That feel like pillows of rainbows.
No, I can't really afford them. I almost barfed a little when I saw the price. But let's be honest: I can't really afford the trainer, either. Those monthly charges are going on a credit card. I couldn't continue down the path I was on, though, so I made a choice for my health at the expense of my finances. And these shoes took some consideration. In the end, I realized that every time I need to stop my training because my arches are sore, I'm wasting money. Every time I need to stop running because my shins are aching, I'm wasting money.
Not only that, but keeping my feet in unsuitable footwear is putting myself in real physical harm. Chronic shin splints can lead to much more serious problems, and my knee certainly can't bear any burdens if my other parts begin to bail out.
Sometimes, putting yourself first is hard. Sometimes, it's expensive. But sometimes, it's necessary. Welcome to my life, little shoes. You'd better last a good, long time.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Perspective
As I slowly lose weight and see the change in myself, I'm delighted with the person I'm becoming. I'm happy, I'm healthier, and I'm starting to shape myself into the form I want.
And it's humbling to realize that I'm still two months away from the weight I was at this time last year.
I was miserable then, trying to lose weight and failing. I was so unhappy with the person I saw in the mirror. I was too big, I felt. I ate poorly and had no physical activity in my life.
A small, bitter part of me asks why I couldn't have been happy then. Time has given me the perspective I lacked, and the weight I then despised is the weight I'm presently chasing after.
I wish I had been happy. I wish I had appreciated my body for what it was.
This time around, I understand that time is fleeting and never-ending. The body I have today is not the body I'll have tomorrow, or the next, or any other day. It may be bigger, it may be smaller, but it is mine and I will appreciate it for what it can do. I will wear the clothing that makes me feel good about myself and damn the consequences.
In this ongoing battle, knowing that each day is another opportunity to do it right, it's the least I can do.
And it's humbling to realize that I'm still two months away from the weight I was at this time last year.
I was miserable then, trying to lose weight and failing. I was so unhappy with the person I saw in the mirror. I was too big, I felt. I ate poorly and had no physical activity in my life.
A small, bitter part of me asks why I couldn't have been happy then. Time has given me the perspective I lacked, and the weight I then despised is the weight I'm presently chasing after.
I wish I had been happy. I wish I had appreciated my body for what it was.
This time around, I understand that time is fleeting and never-ending. The body I have today is not the body I'll have tomorrow, or the next, or any other day. It may be bigger, it may be smaller, but it is mine and I will appreciate it for what it can do. I will wear the clothing that makes me feel good about myself and damn the consequences.
In this ongoing battle, knowing that each day is another opportunity to do it right, it's the least I can do.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Checking progress and cutting myself some slack
As the whole world knows by now, I'm involved in a serious love affair with the treadmill.
I don't understand how it happened, really. A good friend of mine, with whom I used to visit the gym occasionally way back during my Ohio State days, began running. She blogged about it and posted about it on Facebook, via RunKeeper, and I remember being so incredibly impressed. She was always fitter than I was, but she was no runner, no more than I was. Nevertheless, here she was, making this huge, visible change in her life.
It inspired me.
So a little over a year ago, I started on the treadmill. Bit by bit, I worked up from alternating one minute walk/one minute jog to running six minutes at a time. I quickly learned about these crazy endorphin things and made good friends with the runner's high.
Of course, I didn't stick with it, which is how I got here and ended up down this new path of mine. But I remembered how amazing it felt to be running for real, and I was excited to get back to it this time around.
When I started on the treadmill less than two months ago, my mile was back to over 17 minutes and I couldn't run more than a minute or two at a time. I've been running three or four times a week, slowly chipping away at my personal bests, finding myself desperate for that endorphin rush at the end of my day. I shared elatedly last Friday that I coasted right by my last record, ending my mile at 13:52. On Saturday, did even better and landed at 13:44.
Tonight, I finished my mile in 14:01 and felt a pang of disappointment. My legs are still aching from Monday night, I'm barely able to climb stairs, and I had some kind of shin splint going on in my left leg that made even my walking intervals difficult. By any logical measure, I had a great night. Still, disappointment.
Posting gains two days in a row is an incredible affirmation that I'm on the right track, but as I discovered tonight, it's unrealistic to expect it to continue regularly. Such expectation is foolish and ignorant of how the body works, and shame on me for throwing my knowledge out the window.
Tonight was still my third-fastest mile of my adult life, and if not for the leg pain, I could have gone on to post a great two-mile time. I ran solidly for a half mile, which I've never done before. I put in a two-minute interval at 5.0mph, which is faster than I usually run. Tonight had the ingredients of something awesome. It just didn't happen tonight. And that's okay.
So I move on, trying to forgive myself for my disappointment. I'm sure I'll be disappointed again sometime, probably soon, probably for equally foolish reasons.
Did a weigh-in tonight, out of curiosity. I'm at 225, down 13lbs from my start eight weeks ago. It's working. Slowly but surely, it's working.
Thank goodness for that.
I don't understand how it happened, really. A good friend of mine, with whom I used to visit the gym occasionally way back during my Ohio State days, began running. She blogged about it and posted about it on Facebook, via RunKeeper, and I remember being so incredibly impressed. She was always fitter than I was, but she was no runner, no more than I was. Nevertheless, here she was, making this huge, visible change in her life.
It inspired me.
So a little over a year ago, I started on the treadmill. Bit by bit, I worked up from alternating one minute walk/one minute jog to running six minutes at a time. I quickly learned about these crazy endorphin things and made good friends with the runner's high.
Of course, I didn't stick with it, which is how I got here and ended up down this new path of mine. But I remembered how amazing it felt to be running for real, and I was excited to get back to it this time around.
When I started on the treadmill less than two months ago, my mile was back to over 17 minutes and I couldn't run more than a minute or two at a time. I've been running three or four times a week, slowly chipping away at my personal bests, finding myself desperate for that endorphin rush at the end of my day. I shared elatedly last Friday that I coasted right by my last record, ending my mile at 13:52. On Saturday, did even better and landed at 13:44.
Tonight, I finished my mile in 14:01 and felt a pang of disappointment. My legs are still aching from Monday night, I'm barely able to climb stairs, and I had some kind of shin splint going on in my left leg that made even my walking intervals difficult. By any logical measure, I had a great night. Still, disappointment.
Posting gains two days in a row is an incredible affirmation that I'm on the right track, but as I discovered tonight, it's unrealistic to expect it to continue regularly. Such expectation is foolish and ignorant of how the body works, and shame on me for throwing my knowledge out the window.
Tonight was still my third-fastest mile of my adult life, and if not for the leg pain, I could have gone on to post a great two-mile time. I ran solidly for a half mile, which I've never done before. I put in a two-minute interval at 5.0mph, which is faster than I usually run. Tonight had the ingredients of something awesome. It just didn't happen tonight. And that's okay.
So I move on, trying to forgive myself for my disappointment. I'm sure I'll be disappointed again sometime, probably soon, probably for equally foolish reasons.
Did a weigh-in tonight, out of curiosity. I'm at 225, down 13lbs from my start eight weeks ago. It's working. Slowly but surely, it's working.
Thank goodness for that.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Weights and why everyone should use them
I'm going to get a little preachy for a few minutes, because it's important, guys. For reals.
I've had loads of female friends over the years who have been interested in going to the gym, improving their health, or getting fitter. Some of them went out and pursued it, while others had the same level of ambition I always used to have. (Until I didn't.)
Nearly all of these ladies had the same thing in common: they didn't want to lift weights.
"Oh," they'd say, "I don't want to look all muscley."
I would nod along with them, as though it were indeed a terrible fate to be a female with muscles. Heaven forbid!
But here's the thing: those 'muscley' women on the covers of fitness magazines didn't get that way overnight. They didn't get that way by going to the gym a few times, or even a few times a week. They didn't get that way over the course of a month or two.
They got that way through months, if not years, of a strictly-regimented diet and a fitness routine of hours a day, six days a week. I sure as heck won't get there from picking up a set of dumbbells twice a week.
Additionally, all this fat I have is hiding my muscle, anyway. The muscles I've worked so hard to build are still hidden. As that fat begins to disappear, the muscles will become evident, and let me tell you, I can't wait for that day.
So if lifting weights a few times a week won't make a person ripped, what will it do? Well, I'll tell you.
It'll burn calories while you're doing it. It'll burn calories after you're done. It'll create the sort of body that's made for doing work, which makes exercise that much easier. Just as eating and weight gain became a sort of horrible self-fulfilling prophecy for me, weight training and cardio feed off each other. It all just plain gets better.
Even more significantly, weight training provides all of us, including older adults, with numerous health benefits. Just as aerobic activity is good for cardiovascular health, weight training contributes to overall wellness and should never be overlooked in a fitness program. They're too important to skip out on.
There. Now that I've got that out of the way, I would like to tell you that my trainer made me do legs on Monday. It was exhausting and grueling, and I considered running for the door at least once. (I'm pretty sure J is faster than me, though. So I didn't.)
To nobody's surprise, I was visibly limping yesterday. Being the trooper that I am and wanting to stick to my fitness plan, I went to the gym anyway and decided to concentrate on arms. At the time, it was a great idea; I went on lunch break, so I was on a schedule. I didn't have long to invest, and I went in, got the job done, and went back to work. I felt terribly accomplished.
At 3am, however, when I wanted to roll over and disentangle myself from my blankets, it wasn't nearly as enjoyable. Having neither working legs nor working arms creates a significant challenge, and I flailed around like a beached fish just trying to get to the other pillow.
It was spectacular.
So tonight is a night off from the gym. I sit here, typing, sad that I'm not on the treadmill instead... until I try to get up, make that grunty noise (you know the one), fail to get up, and continue to sit here, not feeling so bad about it anymore.
Here's hoping for a better tomorrow!
I've had loads of female friends over the years who have been interested in going to the gym, improving their health, or getting fitter. Some of them went out and pursued it, while others had the same level of ambition I always used to have. (Until I didn't.)
Nearly all of these ladies had the same thing in common: they didn't want to lift weights.
"Oh," they'd say, "I don't want to look all muscley."
I would nod along with them, as though it were indeed a terrible fate to be a female with muscles. Heaven forbid!
But here's the thing: those 'muscley' women on the covers of fitness magazines didn't get that way overnight. They didn't get that way by going to the gym a few times, or even a few times a week. They didn't get that way over the course of a month or two.
They got that way through months, if not years, of a strictly-regimented diet and a fitness routine of hours a day, six days a week. I sure as heck won't get there from picking up a set of dumbbells twice a week.
Additionally, all this fat I have is hiding my muscle, anyway. The muscles I've worked so hard to build are still hidden. As that fat begins to disappear, the muscles will become evident, and let me tell you, I can't wait for that day.
So if lifting weights a few times a week won't make a person ripped, what will it do? Well, I'll tell you.
It'll burn calories while you're doing it. It'll burn calories after you're done. It'll create the sort of body that's made for doing work, which makes exercise that much easier. Just as eating and weight gain became a sort of horrible self-fulfilling prophecy for me, weight training and cardio feed off each other. It all just plain gets better.
Even more significantly, weight training provides all of us, including older adults, with numerous health benefits. Just as aerobic activity is good for cardiovascular health, weight training contributes to overall wellness and should never be overlooked in a fitness program. They're too important to skip out on.
There. Now that I've got that out of the way, I would like to tell you that my trainer made me do legs on Monday. It was exhausting and grueling, and I considered running for the door at least once. (I'm pretty sure J is faster than me, though. So I didn't.)
To nobody's surprise, I was visibly limping yesterday. Being the trooper that I am and wanting to stick to my fitness plan, I went to the gym anyway and decided to concentrate on arms. At the time, it was a great idea; I went on lunch break, so I was on a schedule. I didn't have long to invest, and I went in, got the job done, and went back to work. I felt terribly accomplished.
At 3am, however, when I wanted to roll over and disentangle myself from my blankets, it wasn't nearly as enjoyable. Having neither working legs nor working arms creates a significant challenge, and I flailed around like a beached fish just trying to get to the other pillow.
It was spectacular.
So tonight is a night off from the gym. I sit here, typing, sad that I'm not on the treadmill instead... until I try to get up, make that grunty noise (you know the one), fail to get up, and continue to sit here, not feeling so bad about it anymore.
Here's hoping for a better tomorrow!
Friday, December 2, 2011
Unexpected results are sometimes the best ones
A funny thing happened tonight.
I decided not to go to the gym.
Okay, that's not the funny part. The funny part is that my brain knows that the end of my work day equals going to the gym, and I pulled into the left-turn lane before I realized that I was going the wrong way to get home.
So I had a quick chat with myself.
"Self, why don't you want to go to the gym?"
Because.
"What will you accomplish if you don't go to the gym?"
Myself had no answer for this. And thus, my decision was made for me. I went to the gym.
And it was, without a doubt, the best decision I've made all week.
I hit the weights first, something I haven't done independently for over a week. A little leg work, some arms, reminding myself that I know how to do this and that it's important.
I've been telling myself all week that I need to take it easy on the treadmill. I planned to do elliptical last night, then didn't. I planned to do elliptical tonight, then didn't. So I tried to convince myself that I should walk tonight, maybe just a light jog. Progress on my mile has been slow, in fits and starts, and I thought that going light tonight might be a nice change of pace.
But then, I started running. And I kept running.
I waved goodbye to my previous record mile of 14:20, set yesterday. When that mile turned over at 13:52, I had to stop the machine.
I cried.
I've never done this before, not as an adult. Ever. It was overwhelming, and I struggled to keep it together enough that my gym-mates didn't worry. I started it up again, giving myself a victory walk, shaking out my legs.
And then I started running again. And running some more.
I broke my two-mile record by 41 seconds, finishing in 29:18.
This feeling, it's indescribable, and I'm not doing it justice by struggling with words. I knew, deep down, that I had what it took to do this. I just wasn't prepared for what it would feel like.
I still have a long road ahead. Today's records are meant to be broken tomorrow. But for a few minutes, I have this. No failure can take that away.
I decided not to go to the gym.
Okay, that's not the funny part. The funny part is that my brain knows that the end of my work day equals going to the gym, and I pulled into the left-turn lane before I realized that I was going the wrong way to get home.
So I had a quick chat with myself.
"Self, why don't you want to go to the gym?"
Because.
"What will you accomplish if you don't go to the gym?"
Myself had no answer for this. And thus, my decision was made for me. I went to the gym.
And it was, without a doubt, the best decision I've made all week.
I hit the weights first, something I haven't done independently for over a week. A little leg work, some arms, reminding myself that I know how to do this and that it's important.
I've been telling myself all week that I need to take it easy on the treadmill. I planned to do elliptical last night, then didn't. I planned to do elliptical tonight, then didn't. So I tried to convince myself that I should walk tonight, maybe just a light jog. Progress on my mile has been slow, in fits and starts, and I thought that going light tonight might be a nice change of pace.
But then, I started running. And I kept running.
I waved goodbye to my previous record mile of 14:20, set yesterday. When that mile turned over at 13:52, I had to stop the machine.
I cried.
I've never done this before, not as an adult. Ever. It was overwhelming, and I struggled to keep it together enough that my gym-mates didn't worry. I started it up again, giving myself a victory walk, shaking out my legs.
And then I started running again. And running some more.
I broke my two-mile record by 41 seconds, finishing in 29:18.
This feeling, it's indescribable, and I'm not doing it justice by struggling with words. I knew, deep down, that I had what it took to do this. I just wasn't prepared for what it would feel like.
I still have a long road ahead. Today's records are meant to be broken tomorrow. But for a few minutes, I have this. No failure can take that away.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
There's no "pretty" at the gym
I feel terribly late writing about Monday night. Am I late? I'm late.
Have you ever been so tired that it takes days, literally days, to catch up? I blame Monday. When I asked my trainer for an arms night on Monday, due to my twisted knee, I got an arms night.
Oh, yes. So very.
When I lift weights on my own, I tend to go light. I don't have a spotter, I'm not well-practiced in the form necessary, and I really don't want to hurt myself. So the weights I choose are of the sort where I can do three sets of 10-15 reps, and it starts to get challenging toward the end of the first set. By the end of my last set, I should be pretty well spent, feeling like I can't do another rep.
So on Monday night, when I settled back into the incline chest press machine for my first lift of the night, I thought, "I've got this."
And then, I grimaced. And winced.
I think it was the first time I've felt a little bit of terror at the beginning of a workout. I'm sure it won't be the last.
Whether it was optimism at my progress or sadism at my weakness, J was loading the weights heavy on Monday. Not "Holy cheesecake, I can't lift that thing" heavy, more of an "Oh, this doesn't look bad, let me grab that... what-are-you-thinking-how-can-I-do-twelve-reps??" heavy. It was an insidious sort of heavy. Sneaky.
After some bicep curls that were too heavy for me to complete without assistance, before the tricep extensions that were too heavy for me to complete without assistance, there were the upright rows.
I don't want to keep you in suspense: I needed assistance. I nodded at J's demonstration, and despite my feeble start to the night, I grabbed that 40-lb barbell with confidence.
To my credit, I completed several reps myself. It was hard, and I was digging deep to find the drive to finish. But catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I made a critical mistake.
I judged myself. The grimace, the clenched teeth, the shaking muscles. The jiggling everything. I lowered the bar with a sigh and took a deep breath.
"There's no 'pretty' at the gym, is there." There was no question in my voice.
And J laughed. "No. If there is, you're not doing it right. Some ladies come in here looking like they're trying to find a husband. You wonder, what's the point?"
Attitude: adjusted.
I go to the gym for a reason. I have goals. I have pounds to lose and muscle to build. These are not easy tasks and the magazines that show people lifting weights while smiling are liars. It's hard and it's ugly, and if you want the results, you need to put in the work. A trainer is helpful, a motivating factor who can give you an education on the machines and muscle groups, but in the end, a trainer doesn't make you lose weight. You do.
(Y'know, I didn't realize it until just now, but after that set, J stepped between me and the mirror. Wonder if it was intentional. In any event, I'm thinking I hit the trainer jackpot.)
Have you ever been so tired that it takes days, literally days, to catch up? I blame Monday. When I asked my trainer for an arms night on Monday, due to my twisted knee, I got an arms night.
Oh, yes. So very.
When I lift weights on my own, I tend to go light. I don't have a spotter, I'm not well-practiced in the form necessary, and I really don't want to hurt myself. So the weights I choose are of the sort where I can do three sets of 10-15 reps, and it starts to get challenging toward the end of the first set. By the end of my last set, I should be pretty well spent, feeling like I can't do another rep.
So on Monday night, when I settled back into the incline chest press machine for my first lift of the night, I thought, "I've got this."
And then, I grimaced. And winced.
I think it was the first time I've felt a little bit of terror at the beginning of a workout. I'm sure it won't be the last.
Whether it was optimism at my progress or sadism at my weakness, J was loading the weights heavy on Monday. Not "Holy cheesecake, I can't lift that thing" heavy, more of an "Oh, this doesn't look bad, let me grab that... what-are-you-thinking-how-can-I-do-twelve-reps??" heavy. It was an insidious sort of heavy. Sneaky.
After some bicep curls that were too heavy for me to complete without assistance, before the tricep extensions that were too heavy for me to complete without assistance, there were the upright rows.
I don't want to keep you in suspense: I needed assistance. I nodded at J's demonstration, and despite my feeble start to the night, I grabbed that 40-lb barbell with confidence.
To my credit, I completed several reps myself. It was hard, and I was digging deep to find the drive to finish. But catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I made a critical mistake.
I judged myself. The grimace, the clenched teeth, the shaking muscles. The jiggling everything. I lowered the bar with a sigh and took a deep breath.
"There's no 'pretty' at the gym, is there." There was no question in my voice.
And J laughed. "No. If there is, you're not doing it right. Some ladies come in here looking like they're trying to find a husband. You wonder, what's the point?"
Attitude: adjusted.
I go to the gym for a reason. I have goals. I have pounds to lose and muscle to build. These are not easy tasks and the magazines that show people lifting weights while smiling are liars. It's hard and it's ugly, and if you want the results, you need to put in the work. A trainer is helpful, a motivating factor who can give you an education on the machines and muscle groups, but in the end, a trainer doesn't make you lose weight. You do.
(Y'know, I didn't realize it until just now, but after that set, J stepped between me and the mirror. Wonder if it was intentional. In any event, I'm thinking I hit the trainer jackpot.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)