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.
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