It would seem that when I feel I'm not making progress at the gym, I feel I have nothing to post.
The sadness over not being able to run has been overwhelming. I made do with a few visits to the bike at the gym, logging nearly sixty miles, each mile feeling more desperate than the one before. Pedaling away the hours, yearning to reach that wonderful endorphin rush that I've come to know so well.
I don't know if a "biker's high" exists. If it does, I sure didn't find it.
To compensate for the days off I was going to take last week, I changed up my diet. I knew I needed to get serious about it if I were to keep my weight down while not hitting the treadmill every day.
Enter: The Salad.
I hate salads. I really, really hate them. I don't really like vegetables, I certainly don't like vinaigrettes, and if it doesn't have melted cheese, what's the point?
You're seeing now why I gained this weight in the first place, aren't you. It's okay. You can nod.
Anyway. A few weeks ago, I was browsing the organic section of the local grocery store and I saw this bottle of dressing sitting on an endcap of clearance items. Even the word "garlic" makes my taste buds start to samba. So I bought it, figuring that I might one day decide to eat a salad.
You never know.
Last weekend, with this idea in my head of buckling down on my diet while I rested my foot, I decided to buy some lettuce. Only when I got to the produce department, I remembered that, oh yeah, lettuce is boring and dumb. So I picked up a bag of greens consisting of mixed spring greens and baby spinach, and I found some marinated butter herb chicken breasts that were just begging to be bought.
A bowl of greens with two tablespoons of dressing and a chicken breast for lunch, every day. (Okay, not Friday. I had cookies for lunch. I was under a lot of stress.) Some days, I had it for dinner, too. It was... edible. Maybe not great, but by the end of the week, I could say that it was actually good. I even started looking forward to it.
And when I stepped on the scale on Saturday morning, I had lost two pounds.
200 pounds. Right there, on the scale. I stared at it, dumbfounded. I didn't understand.
I'm struggling to resist the urge to stop at the gym every morning before work, just to check. I weighed myself before and after training today, just in case.
Every pound is a milestone, but this pound, this one little pound... it means something even more.
It's almost here.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Yes, it was time for an evaluation
Last night was another night with my trainer, and since it had been a while since our last evaluation, J figured that it was as good a time as any. In light of my plantar fasciitis (and subsequent depressive food binge, involving cookies, chocolate, and DiGiorno), it was probably a better time than most.
We omitted two of the exercises: leg presses and 12:00 run. Anything that involves my feet and increased weight or strain on them is out. I'm not willing to take chances.
No hoof, no horse.
So our first stop was at the scale. At long last, after weeks and weeks (and weeks) of no change, the scale has tipped a little lower. I'm sitting at 202 now.
"I feel like I've had so little progress recently," I said. "I'm so close to 200, it makes me crazy!"
"If you hadn't eaten a whole pizza this weekend, you might have been there."
I put on an impressive pout. "Don't say that."
"It's true!" J laughed. "You pay me to say these things!"
Ouch. He had a point there.
The measurements didn't reveal anything shocking. Small losses everywhere, which is good. Predictable. My biggest loss this time around was in my waist, where I lost an inch. Good riddance, I say.
I continued to improve over my last strength benchmarks, though not dramatically, and I keep working away at my sit-ups and push-ups. I'm reaching a point where I'm doing both of those at such a steady, quick pace that it'll be hard to squeeze any more reps out in the space of a minute. I topped out on my sit-ups two evaluations ago, when I hit 61, and even though I was giving it all I had last night, I only made 57 or so. J reasoned that I may be sitting up higher now that I have less bulk around my middle, making each rep take the tiniest bit longer. In reality, this means I'm still working harder, doing more, and getting stronger.
He's so nice to me. (Sometimes.)
Overall, it was another positive evaluation, which I desperately needed right now. The plateau I've been complaining about for the past month seems to have loosened its grip, and the glimpse of progress was enough to briefly kick me out of my depression over not being able to run.
And the depression has been wicked. I feel like something is missing right now. Taking a few days off because I needed a break was one thing. Being forced to take a few weeks off because I hurt myself is entirely another.
Tonight, after leaving the Chinese take-out place I hit once or twice a week, I was struck by the sunset. The air was just beginning to cool, the sky was mottled with multicolored clouds, just a few drops of rain were daring to fall, and the sun was casting these beautiful beams from behind the layers of clouds. And the only thought in my mind as I stood in the middle of the parking lot was: I want to run. My eyes welled up.
Then I realized I was standing in the middle of a parking lot, for crying out loud, and I got the hell out of the way of the murderous souls who wanted to get home with their $5 pizzas before they were no longer Hot-N-Ready.
So. The past few days have been emotional, if mostly rewarding. I'm going out of my way to look after my foot, to help it heal as quickly and efficiently as possible. My purse is crammed full with ibuprofen, an ACE bandage, and an ice pack. While yesterday (and, okay, even last Friday) were intermittently painful in my worn-out work shoes, today was pain-free. I plan to keep it that way.
Progress. Even in tiny bits, it counts. It's important to remember this.
We omitted two of the exercises: leg presses and 12:00 run. Anything that involves my feet and increased weight or strain on them is out. I'm not willing to take chances.
No hoof, no horse.
So our first stop was at the scale. At long last, after weeks and weeks (and weeks) of no change, the scale has tipped a little lower. I'm sitting at 202 now.
"I feel like I've had so little progress recently," I said. "I'm so close to 200, it makes me crazy!"
"If you hadn't eaten a whole pizza this weekend, you might have been there."
I put on an impressive pout. "Don't say that."
"It's true!" J laughed. "You pay me to say these things!"
Ouch. He had a point there.
The measurements didn't reveal anything shocking. Small losses everywhere, which is good. Predictable. My biggest loss this time around was in my waist, where I lost an inch. Good riddance, I say.
I continued to improve over my last strength benchmarks, though not dramatically, and I keep working away at my sit-ups and push-ups. I'm reaching a point where I'm doing both of those at such a steady, quick pace that it'll be hard to squeeze any more reps out in the space of a minute. I topped out on my sit-ups two evaluations ago, when I hit 61, and even though I was giving it all I had last night, I only made 57 or so. J reasoned that I may be sitting up higher now that I have less bulk around my middle, making each rep take the tiniest bit longer. In reality, this means I'm still working harder, doing more, and getting stronger.
He's so nice to me. (Sometimes.)
Overall, it was another positive evaluation, which I desperately needed right now. The plateau I've been complaining about for the past month seems to have loosened its grip, and the glimpse of progress was enough to briefly kick me out of my depression over not being able to run.
And the depression has been wicked. I feel like something is missing right now. Taking a few days off because I needed a break was one thing. Being forced to take a few weeks off because I hurt myself is entirely another.
Tonight, after leaving the Chinese take-out place I hit once or twice a week, I was struck by the sunset. The air was just beginning to cool, the sky was mottled with multicolored clouds, just a few drops of rain were daring to fall, and the sun was casting these beautiful beams from behind the layers of clouds. And the only thought in my mind as I stood in the middle of the parking lot was: I want to run. My eyes welled up.
Then I realized I was standing in the middle of a parking lot, for crying out loud, and I got the hell out of the way of the murderous souls who wanted to get home with their $5 pizzas before they were no longer Hot-N-Ready.
So. The past few days have been emotional, if mostly rewarding. I'm going out of my way to look after my foot, to help it heal as quickly and efficiently as possible. My purse is crammed full with ibuprofen, an ACE bandage, and an ice pack. While yesterday (and, okay, even last Friday) were intermittently painful in my worn-out work shoes, today was pain-free. I plan to keep it that way.
Progress. Even in tiny bits, it counts. It's important to remember this.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
First race: finished!
Despite predictions of rain, this morning ended up being just the right mix of overcast and breezy. Which is good, because I was worried my mid-length capris wouldn't cut it, and my three frantic trips last night to various stores to try and find running pants proved utterly fruitless.
I learned a few things today. Some of them, I already knew, but one of them was a complete surprise.
I was dead lame this morning. As in, I got out of my car at the race site (about an hour and a half from home) and had a prominent, painful limp. I've had a suspicion recently that I may have plantar fasciitis in my left foot, it's been aching in just the wrong way for a couple weeks, and this morning sealed the deal. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to run, but in the time it took me to register and bring my things back to my car, the pain had subsided.
So I ran.
The route for this particular 5K was twice around beautiful Lake Como in St. Paul. I found myself enjoying the first lap around the lake, running in the company of other people, surrounded by the loveliest blooming trees I've seen this year. The slightly uneven terrain made the fronts of my feet a little crampy, but that's what you get for training on treadmills. Muscles don't have a chance to acclimate to real-world conditions.
I crossed the finish line the first time in a little over 18 minutes. Firmly on-course to meet my goal of 40:00 for the whole thing.
The second lap, however, was another story. The sun came out, filtering through the clouds, which was wonderful and all, but made things just warm enough that I started becoming uncomfortable in all my layers. Despite the sun, the air was still cold, and my chest and throat were starting to ache. A headwind picked up as I ran down the long side of the lake.
Then, slowly, a cramp started between my shoulder blades. I realized I'd unconsciously been hiking my shoulders halfway up to my ears, but too late. My comfortable intervals became twice as much walking as running.
As I crossed the 3-mile marker, I picked up my run again. I was going to run this thing home, damn it. Then I heard someone shouting my name.
It was a woman I met just before the race. She had seen me, standing alone, and came over to give me some tips. "After the race," she said, "come find me."
There she was, waiting for me before the finish line, cheering me on, waving me home.
There are precious few times in life - too few - when we can look around ourselves and know we're not alone in what we're doing. This moment, with this stranger, is something I'll always remember.
I briefly registered my time as I came in: 40 minutes and change. The details flew out of my brain when I saw my next surprise, one of my sisters waiting at the finish. As I gave her a hug, another sister jogged up. They live near the lake, though in opposite directions, and when I mentioned the race on my Facebook, they made impromptu plans to come see me.
I love my family. So much.
Here I am, back at home, icing my foot and waiting patiently for the results (and photos!) to hit the website. I'm anxious to see what my actual finishing time was, so I can log it on RunKeeper.
Today was a fantastic experience, and I think it was the perfect 5K for my race debut. The bib numbers we were assigned designated weight loss, with the greatest amount of weight lost having the smallest bib number. This was voluntary, of course, but it was so heartening to be running with people who've been here, where I am now. This journey continues to be a huge challenge for me, and these shared experiences remind me it's possible.
And now, I'll be off of running a while. I've caught this foot condition early enough that it doesn't seem severe, so I'll follow a little common sense and interwebby doctor advice, until I see a doctor of my own. Plantar fasciitis is a sprain of a ligament in the bottom of the foot, and I'll treat it like I would any other sprain. Ice, rest, compression, anti-inflammatories. I may break out the crutches this week if the compression doesn't do enough good.
Good thing I have lots of weights to lift while I wait for this to heal. Come on foot, get better! I need to run!
Update: The times are posted! The time rolled over as I approached the line, and I finished in 41:06.4. I now have a road-race time to beat!
I learned a few things today. Some of them, I already knew, but one of them was a complete surprise.
I was dead lame this morning. As in, I got out of my car at the race site (about an hour and a half from home) and had a prominent, painful limp. I've had a suspicion recently that I may have plantar fasciitis in my left foot, it's been aching in just the wrong way for a couple weeks, and this morning sealed the deal. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to run, but in the time it took me to register and bring my things back to my car, the pain had subsided.
So I ran.
The route for this particular 5K was twice around beautiful Lake Como in St. Paul. I found myself enjoying the first lap around the lake, running in the company of other people, surrounded by the loveliest blooming trees I've seen this year. The slightly uneven terrain made the fronts of my feet a little crampy, but that's what you get for training on treadmills. Muscles don't have a chance to acclimate to real-world conditions.
I crossed the finish line the first time in a little over 18 minutes. Firmly on-course to meet my goal of 40:00 for the whole thing.
The second lap, however, was another story. The sun came out, filtering through the clouds, which was wonderful and all, but made things just warm enough that I started becoming uncomfortable in all my layers. Despite the sun, the air was still cold, and my chest and throat were starting to ache. A headwind picked up as I ran down the long side of the lake.
Then, slowly, a cramp started between my shoulder blades. I realized I'd unconsciously been hiking my shoulders halfway up to my ears, but too late. My comfortable intervals became twice as much walking as running.
As I crossed the 3-mile marker, I picked up my run again. I was going to run this thing home, damn it. Then I heard someone shouting my name.
It was a woman I met just before the race. She had seen me, standing alone, and came over to give me some tips. "After the race," she said, "come find me."
There she was, waiting for me before the finish line, cheering me on, waving me home.
There are precious few times in life - too few - when we can look around ourselves and know we're not alone in what we're doing. This moment, with this stranger, is something I'll always remember.
I briefly registered my time as I came in: 40 minutes and change. The details flew out of my brain when I saw my next surprise, one of my sisters waiting at the finish. As I gave her a hug, another sister jogged up. They live near the lake, though in opposite directions, and when I mentioned the race on my Facebook, they made impromptu plans to come see me.
I love my family. So much.
Here I am, back at home, icing my foot and waiting patiently for the results (and photos!) to hit the website. I'm anxious to see what my actual finishing time was, so I can log it on RunKeeper.
Today was a fantastic experience, and I think it was the perfect 5K for my race debut. The bib numbers we were assigned designated weight loss, with the greatest amount of weight lost having the smallest bib number. This was voluntary, of course, but it was so heartening to be running with people who've been here, where I am now. This journey continues to be a huge challenge for me, and these shared experiences remind me it's possible.
And now, I'll be off of running a while. I've caught this foot condition early enough that it doesn't seem severe, so I'll follow a little common sense and interwebby doctor advice, until I see a doctor of my own. Plantar fasciitis is a sprain of a ligament in the bottom of the foot, and I'll treat it like I would any other sprain. Ice, rest, compression, anti-inflammatories. I may break out the crutches this week if the compression doesn't do enough good.
Good thing I have lots of weights to lift while I wait for this to heal. Come on foot, get better! I need to run!
Update: The times are posted! The time rolled over as I approached the line, and I finished in 41:06.4. I now have a road-race time to beat!
Monday, April 16, 2012
Becoming a runner
I've had numerous attitude adjustments in my time at the gym. Some of them have been brought on by J's sessions, but some of them have come to me while reflecting on my progress, alone.
None are bigger than this one.
I'm no longer someone who's trying to lose weight by running. I'm a runner who happens to be losing weight.
I've had this idea at the back of my mind for a while now, ever since my first plateau at the end of December. I realized I was reaching these plateaus because I was spending so much time on the treadmill, doing the same thing every single day. I was so focused on running, improving my times, making it easier. Despite knowing that cross-training was what I needed to lose weight, I couldn't help it. I just wanted to run.
So tonight at the gym, when I arrived in time for my session only to see J heading off with another client, my frustration at having been inadvertently double-booked was short lived. I'd just been given the gift of another running day.
And lo, did wonderful things happen. My mile is now at 10:51.
I'm just gonna bask in that for a bit here. Just a few months ago, that time seemed impossible. And not impossible in the "I can't finish this incredible slice of triple-chocolate cake" sort of way. Impossible in the "I can't breathe in the vacuum of space" sort of way.
Maybe this is why I like running. It makes the impossible possible.
For two miles, I hit 23:11, taking :13 off my time from Thursday. After that, I was spent. I managed to finish three miles in 36:27, :03 from Thursday's best, so I won't complain. But I was feeling overheated and I was beginning to labor by the end. It was an icky feeling, so instead of finishing out the 45:00 I had programmed on the machine, I finished off a 5K and called it good.
I had aborted plans to participate in a local 5K last week when my foot started giving me problems. But the situation has stabilized, despite my increased mileage (more than 10 miles in the past five days), so I took a chance and signed up for a 5K this coming weekend. I'll be running in the Challenge Obesity 5K in St. Paul. My goal time is 40:00, and I really don't know how good my chances are on breaking that. I'm still getting comfortable with road running, finding my pacing and not using myself up early. So as long as I finish safely and with no shin splints, I'll be happy woman.
Crossing my fingers for sunny skies!
None are bigger than this one.
I'm no longer someone who's trying to lose weight by running. I'm a runner who happens to be losing weight.
I've had this idea at the back of my mind for a while now, ever since my first plateau at the end of December. I realized I was reaching these plateaus because I was spending so much time on the treadmill, doing the same thing every single day. I was so focused on running, improving my times, making it easier. Despite knowing that cross-training was what I needed to lose weight, I couldn't help it. I just wanted to run.
So tonight at the gym, when I arrived in time for my session only to see J heading off with another client, my frustration at having been inadvertently double-booked was short lived. I'd just been given the gift of another running day.
And lo, did wonderful things happen. My mile is now at 10:51.
I'm just gonna bask in that for a bit here. Just a few months ago, that time seemed impossible. And not impossible in the "I can't finish this incredible slice of triple-chocolate cake" sort of way. Impossible in the "I can't breathe in the vacuum of space" sort of way.
Maybe this is why I like running. It makes the impossible possible.
For two miles, I hit 23:11, taking :13 off my time from Thursday. After that, I was spent. I managed to finish three miles in 36:27, :03 from Thursday's best, so I won't complain. But I was feeling overheated and I was beginning to labor by the end. It was an icky feeling, so instead of finishing out the 45:00 I had programmed on the machine, I finished off a 5K and called it good.
I had aborted plans to participate in a local 5K last week when my foot started giving me problems. But the situation has stabilized, despite my increased mileage (more than 10 miles in the past five days), so I took a chance and signed up for a 5K this coming weekend. I'll be running in the Challenge Obesity 5K in St. Paul. My goal time is 40:00, and I really don't know how good my chances are on breaking that. I'm still getting comfortable with road running, finding my pacing and not using myself up early. So as long as I finish safely and with no shin splints, I'll be happy woman.
Crossing my fingers for sunny skies!
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Beautiful, wonderful running
Either the endorphins are coursing vigorously through my body right now or I genuinely love running.
Or both. Likely both.
I was killing time yesterday at the local Barnes & Noble when I came across the May issue of Runner's World magazine. Across the top, it said something that grabbed my attention.
Special Beginner's Guide
I'm a special beginner! I grabbed the magazine off the shelf. I sat up reading it last night, past my bedtime, filing away ideas for my next runs. My week's schedule ended up a bit askew, so I figured I'd run on Friday, taking today off.
And as I laid awake in bed, all I could think of was running.
So I ran.
I've been frustrated lately with the fact that I haven't been making much progress with my stamina - at least, I haven't perceived it. Two months ago, I was running two or three minutes at a time before I needed to walk. Last week, I was doing the same thing. Sure, I've gotten faster in my intervals, but even when I drop my speed back, I struggle to break just a few minutes.
It's left me feeling like I'm doing something wrong, or that I'm not trying hard enough.
Armed with some ideas gleaned from Runner's World, I hit the treadmill this afternoon. I covered the display with my towel and only allowed myself to see my speed. (Since I still run intervals, I need that.) I put down my iPod. I paid attention to myself, and only myself.
Today's tactic was to start strong in my running, but instead of dropping to a walk when I tired, I slowed my speed slightly. And then slowed it again. I was challenging my body to recover slightly without needing to walk. By the time I had to walk, I reasoned, I would have stretched my running time past those two or three stubborn minutes.
Whether or not my clever "recovery" idea paid off, I don't know. What I do know is that by the time I needed my towel to dry my face for the first time, it had passed the 9:30 mark and I was just beginning to walk for the second time.
I had made it nine minutes with only one break. Huh.
Even though I wasn't watching my times and distances, exactly, I still wanted to know my mile times. As I approached the mark, I peeked at the distance, whipping off the towel only when I reached each mile, to make a mental note of how it was going.
And wouldn't you know, I set a new personal record on every single mile.
I shaved :02 off my one mile record, finishing in 11:20. I took :46 off my two mile record, finishing in 23:24. Best of all, I took 2:11 off my three mile record, finishing in 36:24.
My god, people. That's a pace of 12:08 per mile. Are you kidding me??
After finishing, I decided to weigh myself. The big six-month-iversary is tomorrow, after all. While a few days ago it was back to 204, it's now a bit higher. So. Bummer on that.
I've had to accept, with the progress I'm making in lifting and running, that perhaps I just need to chill out about the weight loss right now. My pants are still getting looser. My body is still changing. It's unfortunate that I'm not seeing the numbers I want on the scale, but I'm seeing so many other wonderful numbers that it's really hard to complain.
And foolish.
So here I am. Six months in and I've lost 34(ish) pounds. I've taken more than six minutes off my mile. I've dropped three pants sizes. I've become comfortable in my body and I've found pride in myself. These things are priceless.
Onward and upward, my friends.
Or both. Likely both.
I was killing time yesterday at the local Barnes & Noble when I came across the May issue of Runner's World magazine. Across the top, it said something that grabbed my attention.
Special Beginner's Guide
I'm a special beginner! I grabbed the magazine off the shelf. I sat up reading it last night, past my bedtime, filing away ideas for my next runs. My week's schedule ended up a bit askew, so I figured I'd run on Friday, taking today off.
And as I laid awake in bed, all I could think of was running.
So I ran.
I've been frustrated lately with the fact that I haven't been making much progress with my stamina - at least, I haven't perceived it. Two months ago, I was running two or three minutes at a time before I needed to walk. Last week, I was doing the same thing. Sure, I've gotten faster in my intervals, but even when I drop my speed back, I struggle to break just a few minutes.
It's left me feeling like I'm doing something wrong, or that I'm not trying hard enough.
Armed with some ideas gleaned from Runner's World, I hit the treadmill this afternoon. I covered the display with my towel and only allowed myself to see my speed. (Since I still run intervals, I need that.) I put down my iPod. I paid attention to myself, and only myself.
Today's tactic was to start strong in my running, but instead of dropping to a walk when I tired, I slowed my speed slightly. And then slowed it again. I was challenging my body to recover slightly without needing to walk. By the time I had to walk, I reasoned, I would have stretched my running time past those two or three stubborn minutes.
Whether or not my clever "recovery" idea paid off, I don't know. What I do know is that by the time I needed my towel to dry my face for the first time, it had passed the 9:30 mark and I was just beginning to walk for the second time.
I had made it nine minutes with only one break. Huh.
Even though I wasn't watching my times and distances, exactly, I still wanted to know my mile times. As I approached the mark, I peeked at the distance, whipping off the towel only when I reached each mile, to make a mental note of how it was going.
And wouldn't you know, I set a new personal record on every single mile.
I shaved :02 off my one mile record, finishing in 11:20. I took :46 off my two mile record, finishing in 23:24. Best of all, I took 2:11 off my three mile record, finishing in 36:24.
My god, people. That's a pace of 12:08 per mile. Are you kidding me??
After finishing, I decided to weigh myself. The big six-month-iversary is tomorrow, after all. While a few days ago it was back to 204, it's now a bit higher. So. Bummer on that.
I've had to accept, with the progress I'm making in lifting and running, that perhaps I just need to chill out about the weight loss right now. My pants are still getting looser. My body is still changing. It's unfortunate that I'm not seeing the numbers I want on the scale, but I'm seeing so many other wonderful numbers that it's really hard to complain.
And foolish.
So here I am. Six months in and I've lost 34(ish) pounds. I've taken more than six minutes off my mile. I've dropped three pants sizes. I've become comfortable in my body and I've found pride in myself. These things are priceless.
Onward and upward, my friends.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Bad timing (and rotten coincidence)
I was certain, leading up to this week, that we'd have an evaluation tonight. Why, I'm not sure. But I was certain.
As I posted this weekend, I did some arms work, since I was assuming this would be eval day.
Oh, no. It wasn't. It was an arms day. And, as J is fond of reminding me, it's getting harder.
I told him when we were starting that I had done arms a few days earlier and that my biceps were still hurting, which they are. All achey and stiff still. So he kindly let me off the hook for biceps. Everything else, though, was fair game.
J started me on seated rows, at a machine similar to this one:
Fifteen reps of those alternated with fifteen reps of incline shoulder presses, which are brutal for me. Every time I do them, I wish I was doing anything else.
I'm still cringing.
After three sets, we moved on to the cable machine for some tricep pulldowns. And we did loads. We started with fifteen reps of tricep pulldowns on an EZ bar, palms down. Then, after a brief rest, we did fifteen reps with my palms facing up.
Though the exercises were almost the same, they emphasized different parts of my triceps, which I really liked. I always seem to end arms nights with the most soreness by my elbows. Tonight, with these palms-up pulldowns, it felt like it focused higher up, toward my shoulder.
Tricep pulldowns are some of my favorites, but they make my arms burn. Quickly. I told J as much.
"You know," I grunted through reps, "I did these on Saturday."
"I almost feel bad now," J said, breaking into a laugh.
I paused and shot him a wry grin. "You can't even say that with a straight face."
"I know." He was still laughing.
Do you know how many total reps of tricep pulldowns I did? Ninety.
And then it was over to another station where we alternated overhead shoulder presses with a 30-lb barbell (fifteen reps, of course) with wide-grip incline push-ups. Magic number? Yes. Fifteen. Three sets.
Next, we headed back to the ladies' area, to find a little more space. We hit a machine that looks familiar:
It functions in much the same way as that first machine with some key differences. One is the angle, which emphasizes different parts of the back. The other is the variable grip it provides.
Since we had already used a standard seated row machine with a neutral grip, J had me use different grips on each of my three sets here. Where and how I grabbed the handles made a huge difference in where I felt the muscles engage.
Each set of fifteen of those was alternated with dumbbell bent-over rows. J handed me a 25-lb dumbbell, and the weight presented less of a problem than the rough, diamond-cut grip. Holy butternut, that hurt. My dainty little hands aren't used to such treatment.
Here's an important term to know in weight lifting: drop set. A drop set is when you begin with high weight and, as you fatigue, you reduce the weight. It's very useful.
It's also a polite way of saying "You got tired and couldn't lift that heavy one anymore."
We did some drop sets. That's okay with me.
We wrapped with abs - two sets of twenty v-ups - and called it good. I was almost sad that we left off with just one ab exercise, which J decided must have been sarcasm, but I was relieved to be done.
Oh wait, but I wasn't. I decided to hop on the treadmill and run a mile. You know, for fun. I finished in 12:37, which is nothing to write home about (anymore) but made me smile nevertheless.
My weight is back to 204, which is a relief. I was taking the fluctuation last week personally. Even better news, my foot seems to be doing better already. Squeezing the last bit of usefulness out of my old shoes was apparently a very bad choice.
Another lesson: learned.
On that note, it's past my bedtime and I'm feeling slightly delirious from the muscle fatigue and sleepiness. Tomorrow is another day. I only hope I can put on my shirt in the morning.
As I posted this weekend, I did some arms work, since I was assuming this would be eval day.
Oh, no. It wasn't. It was an arms day. And, as J is fond of reminding me, it's getting harder.
I told him when we were starting that I had done arms a few days earlier and that my biceps were still hurting, which they are. All achey and stiff still. So he kindly let me off the hook for biceps. Everything else, though, was fair game.
J started me on seated rows, at a machine similar to this one:
Fifteen reps of those alternated with fifteen reps of incline shoulder presses, which are brutal for me. Every time I do them, I wish I was doing anything else.
I'm still cringing.
After three sets, we moved on to the cable machine for some tricep pulldowns. And we did loads. We started with fifteen reps of tricep pulldowns on an EZ bar, palms down. Then, after a brief rest, we did fifteen reps with my palms facing up.
Though the exercises were almost the same, they emphasized different parts of my triceps, which I really liked. I always seem to end arms nights with the most soreness by my elbows. Tonight, with these palms-up pulldowns, it felt like it focused higher up, toward my shoulder.
Tricep pulldowns are some of my favorites, but they make my arms burn. Quickly. I told J as much.
"You know," I grunted through reps, "I did these on Saturday."
"I almost feel bad now," J said, breaking into a laugh.
I paused and shot him a wry grin. "You can't even say that with a straight face."
"I know." He was still laughing.
Do you know how many total reps of tricep pulldowns I did? Ninety.
And then it was over to another station where we alternated overhead shoulder presses with a 30-lb barbell (fifteen reps, of course) with wide-grip incline push-ups. Magic number? Yes. Fifteen. Three sets.
Next, we headed back to the ladies' area, to find a little more space. We hit a machine that looks familiar:
It functions in much the same way as that first machine with some key differences. One is the angle, which emphasizes different parts of the back. The other is the variable grip it provides.
Since we had already used a standard seated row machine with a neutral grip, J had me use different grips on each of my three sets here. Where and how I grabbed the handles made a huge difference in where I felt the muscles engage.
Each set of fifteen of those was alternated with dumbbell bent-over rows. J handed me a 25-lb dumbbell, and the weight presented less of a problem than the rough, diamond-cut grip. Holy butternut, that hurt. My dainty little hands aren't used to such treatment.
Here's an important term to know in weight lifting: drop set. A drop set is when you begin with high weight and, as you fatigue, you reduce the weight. It's very useful.
It's also a polite way of saying "You got tired and couldn't lift that heavy one anymore."
We did some drop sets. That's okay with me.
We wrapped with abs - two sets of twenty v-ups - and called it good. I was almost sad that we left off with just one ab exercise, which J decided must have been sarcasm, but I was relieved to be done.
Oh wait, but I wasn't. I decided to hop on the treadmill and run a mile. You know, for fun. I finished in 12:37, which is nothing to write home about (anymore) but made me smile nevertheless.
My weight is back to 204, which is a relief. I was taking the fluctuation last week personally. Even better news, my foot seems to be doing better already. Squeezing the last bit of usefulness out of my old shoes was apparently a very bad choice.
Another lesson: learned.
On that note, it's past my bedtime and I'm feeling slightly delirious from the muscle fatigue and sleepiness. Tomorrow is another day. I only hope I can put on my shirt in the morning.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Mixing up the routine
As I've said recently, my weight loss has come to a stubborn halt again. This happens often, due in part to my reluctance to diversify. I find incredible security in my routine and I do not like change.
Story of my life.
I used to try to be spontaneous. I wanted to be that fun girl whom you could call on a moment's notice for some crazy, awesome plans. But I always ended up being that girl who said "yes" without thinking, and then went along and pretended to have fun, secretly regretting it.
I really am fun at parties, I promise. Just give me a little notice. (Really!)
When I hit the gym tonight, I decided to change it up. I started with weights, which I don't think I've done on my own in weeks. I went for upper body, doing a smattering of exercises that touched on multiple muscle groups. Tricep dips on a bench, Arnold presses (15lbs), bicep curls (20lbs), tricep pulldowns, and lat pulldowns were all covered.
As much as I love routine, I have a hard time putting my weight training into a routine. It's all just here and there, lifting things until my muscles exhaust. Perhaps that needs to be a goal of mine!
The treadmill was next, and I decided to go for long, slow distance, which is commonly abbreviated as LSD running. While this kind of running isn't very effective for increasing performance, it's a good way to mix up the speed intervals I usually do. According to J, this minor change could be enough to bump me out of my plateau. I don't need to get off the treadmill, he said. I just need to change what I'm doing on it.
So I stuck to a slower jog, the speed I was running about a month ago, and held it for as long as I could. It wasn't more than a few minutes, unfortunately, but that's okay. I walked for a bit and picked up the slow pace again. I finished my mile in 12:24.
Elliptical was next, and I finished a mile there as well in a little over 11 minutes.
I considered staying on the elliptical longer, or swapping to the bike, but ultimately I headed back to the treadmill for some speed work. It wasn't sprinting, I don't have the confidence in my feet to push myself to a sprint on the treadmill. My knee is too delicate for true sprinting, anyway. But I pushed myself a little faster than I've run before, choosing to do one-minute intervals of high speed. I finished this mile in 12:43.
A pretty good session, all things considered. I hope I've mixed things up enough to start making progress again on the weight loss front, but only time will tell.
I'm planning on taking the day off tomorrow. I've recently had some soreness in the sole of one of my feet. I'm hoping it was from wearing worn-out shoes and it'll go away now that I have good shoes again. I pulled out of a 5k I was planning this week so my foot can rehab.
If it's not one thing, it's another. Thank goodness the body is resilient!
Story of my life.
I used to try to be spontaneous. I wanted to be that fun girl whom you could call on a moment's notice for some crazy, awesome plans. But I always ended up being that girl who said "yes" without thinking, and then went along and pretended to have fun, secretly regretting it.
I really am fun at parties, I promise. Just give me a little notice. (Really!)
When I hit the gym tonight, I decided to change it up. I started with weights, which I don't think I've done on my own in weeks. I went for upper body, doing a smattering of exercises that touched on multiple muscle groups. Tricep dips on a bench, Arnold presses (15lbs), bicep curls (20lbs), tricep pulldowns, and lat pulldowns were all covered.
As much as I love routine, I have a hard time putting my weight training into a routine. It's all just here and there, lifting things until my muscles exhaust. Perhaps that needs to be a goal of mine!
The treadmill was next, and I decided to go for long, slow distance, which is commonly abbreviated as LSD running. While this kind of running isn't very effective for increasing performance, it's a good way to mix up the speed intervals I usually do. According to J, this minor change could be enough to bump me out of my plateau. I don't need to get off the treadmill, he said. I just need to change what I'm doing on it.
So I stuck to a slower jog, the speed I was running about a month ago, and held it for as long as I could. It wasn't more than a few minutes, unfortunately, but that's okay. I walked for a bit and picked up the slow pace again. I finished my mile in 12:24.
Elliptical was next, and I finished a mile there as well in a little over 11 minutes.
I considered staying on the elliptical longer, or swapping to the bike, but ultimately I headed back to the treadmill for some speed work. It wasn't sprinting, I don't have the confidence in my feet to push myself to a sprint on the treadmill. My knee is too delicate for true sprinting, anyway. But I pushed myself a little faster than I've run before, choosing to do one-minute intervals of high speed. I finished this mile in 12:43.
A pretty good session, all things considered. I hope I've mixed things up enough to start making progress again on the weight loss front, but only time will tell.
I'm planning on taking the day off tomorrow. I've recently had some soreness in the sole of one of my feet. I'm hoping it was from wearing worn-out shoes and it'll go away now that I have good shoes again. I pulled out of a 5k I was planning this week so my foot can rehab.
If it's not one thing, it's another. Thank goodness the body is resilient!
Friday, April 6, 2012
Back in business
My two-day break turned into three days, when I discovered yesterday afternoon that lack of an afternoon snack wipes me right the heck out.
That'll teach me to run out of protein bars.
So today, entirely rested and properly nourished, I hit the gym for the first time since Monday.
I don't think I was punishing myself, exactly, but I was sure making up for lost time. I set the treadmill to the hill program and started some running intervals. My plan was to do an hour, which I managed with around 20 minutes of running or so.
With warm-up and cool-down, I wrapped 70 minutes and 4.55 miles. My 5k time was around 45 minutes, which pleased me, given that I was on hills.
I'm filing away this accomplishment in the hopes that it overwrites my failures on the weight loss front. That 204 I registered not all that long ago was fleeting. I've been over 205 for the past week, which is disappointing.
I won't meet my goal of breaking out of the 200s by my six-month mark, but I know I'll still meet that goal. Soon.
That'll teach me to run out of protein bars.
So today, entirely rested and properly nourished, I hit the gym for the first time since Monday.
I don't think I was punishing myself, exactly, but I was sure making up for lost time. I set the treadmill to the hill program and started some running intervals. My plan was to do an hour, which I managed with around 20 minutes of running or so.
With warm-up and cool-down, I wrapped 70 minutes and 4.55 miles. My 5k time was around 45 minutes, which pleased me, given that I was on hills.
I'm filing away this accomplishment in the hopes that it overwrites my failures on the weight loss front. That 204 I registered not all that long ago was fleeting. I've been over 205 for the past week, which is disappointing.
I won't meet my goal of breaking out of the 200s by my six-month mark, but I know I'll still meet that goal. Soon.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
This is the week it all falls apart
I decided last night, after my training session with J, that I really needed a break.
I've been pushing myself harder and harder, but it would seem that I've been pushing in all the wrong ways. My anxiety is high, my energy level is low, and the last straw last night was seeing the number on the scale registering three pounds higher than last week.
Three pounds.
It's not the end of the world. For all I know, it was a fluke, one of those weigh-ins that figures in all the retained water and everything you ate for lunch. It happens.
But last night, it all but broke me. I've been working so hard, I told myself. It's not fair.
You know, like someone out there told me this would all be fair. Yeah, right.
Even though I decided last night to take a break, I packed my back this morning, wearily but optimistically. As the final minutes of my work day ticked down, I still wasn't sure if I'd actually let myself rest.
These pounds won't lose themselves.
It wasn't until I failed to make the turn to the gym, on the way home, that I let myself off the hook. And what a relief.
I'm giving myself two days. Two days to not think about lifting, running, or boxing. Two days to read books, watch tv, and sleep. Maybe even cook some of the meals that I keep not cooking, because I'm at the gym until after 7:30 and I just don't have the will to do work around the house.
Rest is not an admission of defeat. Rest is necessary for the body and mind. It's necessary for the spirit. I've gotten by with denying myself this need on sheer determination, maybe a little spite. A little anger. But that sort of attitude, while temporarily empowering, isn't self-sustaining.
In a few days, I'll be back to the gym, hopefully blogging about how I'm back on track and kicking all kinds of ass.
Until then, you can find me right here. On the couch.
I've been pushing myself harder and harder, but it would seem that I've been pushing in all the wrong ways. My anxiety is high, my energy level is low, and the last straw last night was seeing the number on the scale registering three pounds higher than last week.
Three pounds.
It's not the end of the world. For all I know, it was a fluke, one of those weigh-ins that figures in all the retained water and everything you ate for lunch. It happens.
But last night, it all but broke me. I've been working so hard, I told myself. It's not fair.
You know, like someone out there told me this would all be fair. Yeah, right.
Even though I decided last night to take a break, I packed my back this morning, wearily but optimistically. As the final minutes of my work day ticked down, I still wasn't sure if I'd actually let myself rest.
These pounds won't lose themselves.
It wasn't until I failed to make the turn to the gym, on the way home, that I let myself off the hook. And what a relief.
I'm giving myself two days. Two days to not think about lifting, running, or boxing. Two days to read books, watch tv, and sleep. Maybe even cook some of the meals that I keep not cooking, because I'm at the gym until after 7:30 and I just don't have the will to do work around the house.
Rest is not an admission of defeat. Rest is necessary for the body and mind. It's necessary for the spirit. I've gotten by with denying myself this need on sheer determination, maybe a little spite. A little anger. But that sort of attitude, while temporarily empowering, isn't self-sustaining.
In a few days, I'll be back to the gym, hopefully blogging about how I'm back on track and kicking all kinds of ass.
Until then, you can find me right here. On the couch.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
A quote worth remembering
Rules aren't meant to be liked. They're meant to be followed.
Bob Harper said that in a behind-the-scenes clip I just caught with Jillian Michaels, in promotion of a new YouTube series she's starting this month. He said it in passing, but I thought it was such a perfect piece of wisdom that I couldn't ignore it.
Sometimes, you just need to do it. Stop thinking so hard and do what you know you're supposed to do.
On that note, it's time for me to take my own advice.
Bob Harper said that in a behind-the-scenes clip I just caught with Jillian Michaels, in promotion of a new YouTube series she's starting this month. He said it in passing, but I thought it was such a perfect piece of wisdom that I couldn't ignore it.
Sometimes, you just need to do it. Stop thinking so hard and do what you know you're supposed to do.
On that note, it's time for me to take my own advice.
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