Last Sunday, I finally achieved what seemed impossible a year ago. I broke my ten-minute mile.
I rolled in at 9:51 on the treadmill. And there was much excitement!
After such a huge milestone, I had planned to take an easy week. Runs on Tuesday and Thursday, maybe, with a long run Saturday. This strategy of alternating easy and hard weeks has led to some fantastic breakthroughs over the past month.
But as is so often the case, life got in the way. A different work schedule knocked me out of commission for the week, and it was Saturday before I knew it.
A little rest is a good thing. Too much rest is a miserable thing.
I knew that coming back from a whole week off would be difficult, so why not make it as difficult as possible? This called for a long run, on empty.
As Runner's World explains here, there are sensible training reasons for running on empty, increased efficiency and higher percentage of fat burning chief among them. Forcing the body to make this leap, however, is no walk in the park for me. Frankly, it sucks.
Which is exactly what I was looking for.
I pounded out five miles on the treadmill in 1:04:48, a new PR by a scant sixteen seconds. It was exhausting and strenuous, one of those runs where I checked my progress after what seemed like an eternity and I hadn't even made it halfway. It was a character building run.
Sometimes, running is about enduring. And I endured.
Post-run, I hit the scale. My last weigh-in was a beautiful, shining 190. After months in the low-190s, it was a welcome sight. I wasn't sure where my weight would be after a stressful, athletically-careless week, so I winced when I stepped up, telling myself that if it said 192 I would be forgiving.
And it said 186.
Just like that, I'd lost 50 pounds. Not just 50... 52. I know it isn't magic, that this is hard work. The process can be devastating, and there are times when I feel lost in it all. But when I see these results, real results, I nevertheless find my success incomprehensible.
Here I am, claiming it. I've worked hard for this. I have reached - passed - the halfway point of my weight loss.
I did this.
Showing posts with label goals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label goals. Show all posts
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Monday, September 10, 2012
Reaping the rewards
After last weekend's do-or-die approach, I opted to cut back during the week and let my body rest up.
You're welcome, body.
One day of running, on Thursday, with nothing the rest of the week but blissful couch time. I'd hoped this little bargain would lead to a satisfying trail run over the weekend.
I wasn't disappointed.
The first part of yesterday's run was sluggish, something that's been happening more and more lately. I had a hard time committing to it from the moment I rolled out of bed, and when I began running, my body just wasn't into it. It wasn't until I'd passed a mile that things really started humming along.
Once I found that groove, though, it was smooth sailing. I didn't really clue into it until I'd reached The Loop halfway through, but I was moving fast, and it felt easier than it had before. It was surely a combination of many things: the cool breeze, the new music on my iPod, the fact that my body and mind were fresh.
At this point, I dared to hope that the end result would be an overall pace of 14:45. On trails, I tend to pull around 15:00, so if I could shave a little time here and there, I'd be satisfied.
I pushed myself on the way back in, not excessively but with 14:45 in my head. I was hunting it down. I'd set out for a sub-6 mile run, so I hoped I'd be able to hang on without my body wanting to quit after five, as it previously wanted to.
And I was running fast enough that, at one point, I could no longer scan the ground quickly enough to respond. I know the trail well enough now to remember where the rocky, rooty parts are, trying to stay aware of my surroundings. Here, I failed, and my right toe caught hard on a root. I pitched forward, my arms outstretched and ready to take the fall when my left leg swung into action. I caught myself and kept running.
It was a little bewildering, as someone who's been deeply accident-prone since childhood, to have averted disaster at the last second. My body just doesn't do things like that. I catch my toe, my brain has long enough to think "Bad thing!", my body says, "Damn, you're bad at this," and I crash to the ground.
I'd gone several strides before I processed that, no, I wasn't on the ground in the dirt with bloody elbows. Oh my god, I'm still running. If I had to name a favorite moment in my run, this was it.
As I came down the final straightaway, I fished out my phone, wanting to be ready to stop my app and see the damage.
I paced 13:29 for 5.74 miles. Really.
Clearly, the lazy week worked out.
Tonight was less storied, but no less exciting. A tempo run on the treadmill, I started running at the same speed as my last tempo run. I struggled to zone myself out, staring blankly ahead, letting my body go on autopilot. I experimented with this on the trail over the weekend and I credit that with some of the improvements I saw, so I attempted to make it work at the gym.
Last tempo run, I gradually decreased my speed as I ran out of steam. Tonight, I gradually increased the speed and made myself damn well take it.
It worked. I finished my first mile in 10:07, a PR by a landslide. I had enough in the tank to put in a good effort, after a two minute walk, and turned out another PR by finishing that second mile in 21:43.
I floundered around for the last mile, having given up on chasing records until the final five minutes, when I looked at the time and berated myself for accepting a poor effort. Cranked up the speed and finished my third in 36:05. Another PR.
All of a sudden, everything is paying off. I have this astonishing sensation that I, somehow, actually know what I'm doing. I'm getting better, I'm not getting hurt. I'm putting in my speed work, my tempo runs, my long runs outdoors and my easy runs on the treadmill. And it's working.
Next on the agenda: my first 10K. Soon. Eep.
You're welcome, body.
One day of running, on Thursday, with nothing the rest of the week but blissful couch time. I'd hoped this little bargain would lead to a satisfying trail run over the weekend.
I wasn't disappointed.
The first part of yesterday's run was sluggish, something that's been happening more and more lately. I had a hard time committing to it from the moment I rolled out of bed, and when I began running, my body just wasn't into it. It wasn't until I'd passed a mile that things really started humming along.
Once I found that groove, though, it was smooth sailing. I didn't really clue into it until I'd reached The Loop halfway through, but I was moving fast, and it felt easier than it had before. It was surely a combination of many things: the cool breeze, the new music on my iPod, the fact that my body and mind were fresh.
At this point, I dared to hope that the end result would be an overall pace of 14:45. On trails, I tend to pull around 15:00, so if I could shave a little time here and there, I'd be satisfied.
I pushed myself on the way back in, not excessively but with 14:45 in my head. I was hunting it down. I'd set out for a sub-6 mile run, so I hoped I'd be able to hang on without my body wanting to quit after five, as it previously wanted to.
And I was running fast enough that, at one point, I could no longer scan the ground quickly enough to respond. I know the trail well enough now to remember where the rocky, rooty parts are, trying to stay aware of my surroundings. Here, I failed, and my right toe caught hard on a root. I pitched forward, my arms outstretched and ready to take the fall when my left leg swung into action. I caught myself and kept running.
It was a little bewildering, as someone who's been deeply accident-prone since childhood, to have averted disaster at the last second. My body just doesn't do things like that. I catch my toe, my brain has long enough to think "Bad thing!", my body says, "Damn, you're bad at this," and I crash to the ground.
I'd gone several strides before I processed that, no, I wasn't on the ground in the dirt with bloody elbows. Oh my god, I'm still running. If I had to name a favorite moment in my run, this was it.
As I came down the final straightaway, I fished out my phone, wanting to be ready to stop my app and see the damage.
I paced 13:29 for 5.74 miles. Really.
Clearly, the lazy week worked out.
Tonight was less storied, but no less exciting. A tempo run on the treadmill, I started running at the same speed as my last tempo run. I struggled to zone myself out, staring blankly ahead, letting my body go on autopilot. I experimented with this on the trail over the weekend and I credit that with some of the improvements I saw, so I attempted to make it work at the gym.
Last tempo run, I gradually decreased my speed as I ran out of steam. Tonight, I gradually increased the speed and made myself damn well take it.
It worked. I finished my first mile in 10:07, a PR by a landslide. I had enough in the tank to put in a good effort, after a two minute walk, and turned out another PR by finishing that second mile in 21:43.
I floundered around for the last mile, having given up on chasing records until the final five minutes, when I looked at the time and berated myself for accepting a poor effort. Cranked up the speed and finished my third in 36:05. Another PR.
All of a sudden, everything is paying off. I have this astonishing sensation that I, somehow, actually know what I'm doing. I'm getting better, I'm not getting hurt. I'm putting in my speed work, my tempo runs, my long runs outdoors and my easy runs on the treadmill. And it's working.
Next on the agenda: my first 10K. Soon. Eep.
Monday, September 3, 2012
Goal: Met. Barely.
With six miles down on Saturday, I set out yesterday afternoon to see how many more I could add to the total. Would I feel good enough for another long run? Or would I split my remaining six miles into two days? The suspense! The intrigue!
I decided to try for a longer run, around five with the option of tacking on an extra mile at the end, if things were feeling good.
My knee was protesting mildly when I hit the trail. I've learned that many of my little aches will go away as my body warms up, and I was happy that this one disappeared after a mile or two.
On the whole, the run felt much better than the previous day. My body was moving with more freedom, and as I was running around the three mile mark, I had the vague impression that I was moving faster than usual. Looking at the map and my splits, I was right. I average 15min/mi on my long runs, but this time, miles three and four were 14:19 and 14:02 respectively.
That's one of the hardest parts about running at this stage, I think. My sustainable speed is still quite slow, and I don't mean that in a numbers and pacing sense. I mean it feels slow. When I move just a little faster, I click into that beautiful place where it's like gliding. But I can't maintain it for very long. The sensation leaves many of my runs feeling a little lackluster.
The more I do this, the closer I get to holding onto that feeling. And boy, is it worth it.
I wrapped the run at 5.67 miles, leaving me just short of my goal total. No problem, I thought, I'll do the rest at the gym tomorrow, maybe with a little extra.
And then, it hit.
It crept in, slowly, throughout the day. It began in my lower back, my muscles tightening slightly, and worked its way up my spine and into my shoulders. By the evening, my neck was sore, full of kinks I couldn't quite get out. I had that all-over feeling of extreme discomfort.
I tried to shake it off, thinking it was fatigue from overuse. That was the obvious solution. I parked myself on some ice packs and called it good.
Hours later, when I began shivering on the couch, unable to warm myself, I realized I was wrong. The last time I checked my temperature before finally drifting into a fitful, interrupted sleep, the display said 102.6.
There is a lesson here, and that lesson is this: When trainers and doctors say that vigorous exercise may suppress your immune response, they mean it. I opened the door with my run, and some kind of vile, heinous bug walked right in and made itself at home.
The good news is that the fever broke quickly. By the time the sun came up, I was a sweaty mess and my vital signs once again made sense. I spent most of my day alternately resting and dozing, a suitable use of my Labor Day.
And, of course, as the day went on, I was less and less satisfied with the fact that I hadn't hit my goal. A fraction of a mile stood between me and where I wanted to be today.
This evening, I caved to my own pressure and hit the gym.
Know what's weird? It was a great run. Slow, controlled. My breathing was very slow and unstressed. I'd been expecting to labor my way through a mile or so, and the ease with which I ran tonight was a huge surprise.
So. There we have it. 13.2 miles in three days. Someday, I hope these numbers will be typical and unimpressive. But for now, they're pretty awesome.
I decided to try for a longer run, around five with the option of tacking on an extra mile at the end, if things were feeling good.
My knee was protesting mildly when I hit the trail. I've learned that many of my little aches will go away as my body warms up, and I was happy that this one disappeared after a mile or two.
On the whole, the run felt much better than the previous day. My body was moving with more freedom, and as I was running around the three mile mark, I had the vague impression that I was moving faster than usual. Looking at the map and my splits, I was right. I average 15min/mi on my long runs, but this time, miles three and four were 14:19 and 14:02 respectively.
That's one of the hardest parts about running at this stage, I think. My sustainable speed is still quite slow, and I don't mean that in a numbers and pacing sense. I mean it feels slow. When I move just a little faster, I click into that beautiful place where it's like gliding. But I can't maintain it for very long. The sensation leaves many of my runs feeling a little lackluster.
The more I do this, the closer I get to holding onto that feeling. And boy, is it worth it.
I wrapped the run at 5.67 miles, leaving me just short of my goal total. No problem, I thought, I'll do the rest at the gym tomorrow, maybe with a little extra.
And then, it hit.
It crept in, slowly, throughout the day. It began in my lower back, my muscles tightening slightly, and worked its way up my spine and into my shoulders. By the evening, my neck was sore, full of kinks I couldn't quite get out. I had that all-over feeling of extreme discomfort.
I tried to shake it off, thinking it was fatigue from overuse. That was the obvious solution. I parked myself on some ice packs and called it good.
Hours later, when I began shivering on the couch, unable to warm myself, I realized I was wrong. The last time I checked my temperature before finally drifting into a fitful, interrupted sleep, the display said 102.6.
There is a lesson here, and that lesson is this: When trainers and doctors say that vigorous exercise may suppress your immune response, they mean it. I opened the door with my run, and some kind of vile, heinous bug walked right in and made itself at home.
The good news is that the fever broke quickly. By the time the sun came up, I was a sweaty mess and my vital signs once again made sense. I spent most of my day alternately resting and dozing, a suitable use of my Labor Day.
And, of course, as the day went on, I was less and less satisfied with the fact that I hadn't hit my goal. A fraction of a mile stood between me and where I wanted to be today.
This evening, I caved to my own pressure and hit the gym.
Know what's weird? It was a great run. Slow, controlled. My breathing was very slow and unstressed. I'd been expecting to labor my way through a mile or so, and the ease with which I ran tonight was a huge surprise.
So. There we have it. 13.2 miles in three days. Someday, I hope these numbers will be typical and unimpressive. But for now, they're pretty awesome.
Monday, August 27, 2012
About those PRs
I decided early yesterday that a day off after a long run wasn't a bad idea.
Well. That's not entirely accurate. I decided that, on my only day off between a nine-day mini-marathon of work and a five-day work week, my time would be best spent on the couch with a bag of popcorn and the last season of "Castle". (And it was.)
But the later it got, the more I felt like my day was incomplete. So at 8:30pm, I sighed at myself, put on my shoes, and went to the gym.
After such a wonderful week, I was curious. Very curious.
I turned up the speed on the treadmill and launched into another tempo run. I knew it would suck. I knew it might hurt. I decided to embrace it.
I laid out one mile in 10:25, breaking my PR from last Sunday by five full seconds.
A walking interval to catch my breath, then started up some speed intervals at 12:30, just for fun. And really, contrasted with a tempo run, speed intervals are fun. Run hard for a couple minutes, or a short distance, then rest. There's always a light at the end of the tunnel.
My time for two was 22:13.
My record-keeping on my two-miler has been a little dodgy, but I'm pretty sure that's a PR by more than forty seconds.
I'm sure I'll plateau again soon, maybe even right now. It might be another month or two before I get another solid PR. And that's okay.
For now, I'm happy with these shiny gold stars on my calendar.
Well. That's not entirely accurate. I decided that, on my only day off between a nine-day mini-marathon of work and a five-day work week, my time would be best spent on the couch with a bag of popcorn and the last season of "Castle". (And it was.)
But the later it got, the more I felt like my day was incomplete. So at 8:30pm, I sighed at myself, put on my shoes, and went to the gym.
After such a wonderful week, I was curious. Very curious.
I turned up the speed on the treadmill and launched into another tempo run. I knew it would suck. I knew it might hurt. I decided to embrace it.
I laid out one mile in 10:25, breaking my PR from last Sunday by five full seconds.
A walking interval to catch my breath, then started up some speed intervals at 12:30, just for fun. And really, contrasted with a tempo run, speed intervals are fun. Run hard for a couple minutes, or a short distance, then rest. There's always a light at the end of the tunnel.
My time for two was 22:13.
My record-keeping on my two-miler has been a little dodgy, but I'm pretty sure that's a PR by more than forty seconds.
I'm sure I'll plateau again soon, maybe even right now. It might be another month or two before I get another solid PR. And that's okay.
For now, I'm happy with these shiny gold stars on my calendar.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Taking stock of progress
I'd been worried about my running lately.
I sometimes get hard on myself, questioning if I'm doing all I can to improve. My diet slips (sometimes, a lot), and I know that such lapses can have an impact on my running. So while those cookies taste amazing, when I run that evening and fail to improve on my times, I have this internal battle over whether or not it was my fault.
You can see how this sort of mentality would be problematic. I try to be forgiving, but boy, nothing validates training like improvement.
Fortunately for my ego, this week has brought plenty of improvement. Finally.
Each weekend, I go for my long run. Last Saturday's was good, five miles that I accomplished on the treadmill in 1:05:04. My best time for a five yet, though I'm really angling to break an hour. It'll get there!
Sunday, I did my tempo run. A tempo run is meant to be comfortably hard, a stronger push than a long run. I chose to do this by starting at a faster speed, then dropping it ever so slightly after I tired. I didn't want to do intervals - I save those for my speed days, the hard running alternated with recovery walking - so I hoped that easing the speed ever so slightly as needed would help to keep my effort high.
And it worked! I pulled my fasted mile yet, finishing in 10:30 on the nose. After a walk break, I finished out my second mile, barely. A good, strenuous run.
Monday was legs, as detailed earlier, which took me out of commission for most of the week. I managed some moderate intervals on Thursday night and put in a solid workout, but it was just that - a workout. Nothing to write home about.
And so yesterday, it was time for another long run. It was the ideal day for it, overcast and breezy with a very light, very intermittent sprinkling of rain. With the weather delivering exactly what I needed, I chose the trails instead of the treadmill.
It was time to try my first six-miler.
I set out on a familiar route, the one I took on my first long run, taking the turns I hoped would lead me to six miles. The track around the inside of the park was nice enough, but as I crunched over the gravel pathways, I was already fantasizing about the grassy trails outside the fences.
It's hard to explain exactly how perfect the run was. Everything just made sense, from the color of the sky to the temperature of the breeze. By the time I turned out the gate to the nature preserve, my iPod had left Tchaikovsky's Variations on a Rococo Theme and launched into Haydn's Cello Concerto No. 1. I jogged through the loop to Grieg's Peer Gynt, pounding across a field as our hero entered the hall of the Mountain King.
And it had just begun to rain when Vaughan Williams' Five Variants of Dives and Lazarus started, a piece that I find somehow emotionally overwhelming. One of the first times I remember listening to it, in high school, it was pouring rain outside. Ever since then, the piece reminds me of rain.
Pretty fantastic coincidence, if I do say so myself.
Anyway. I had been running for an hour (well, run/walking, as you all probably know by now) and I was still feeling fresh. Happy, even.
Free.
And there, in that instant, I was reminded of why I do this. The numbers are great, the struggle builds an abundance of character. But this feeling of pure, unmitigated freedom makes every last drop of sweat, every difficult tempo run, every muscle cramp worth it. Those lead to this. They make it possible.
The feeling didn't last forever, of course. Around mile five, my body said "Excuse me, isn't this when you usually stop?" The final mile was lethargic, done out of necessity because I was off in the woods all alone. I pushed myself, wanting to meet my goal of 1:30 for the six, unwilling to ruin the magic by checking my progress to see if it was even possible.
Clocks are good at ruining magic.
As I reached the end of the trail, I pulled out my phone to check RunKeeper. And I laughed out loud.
5.99 miles in 1:29:40. Of course.
I decided right then to exercise a point of privilege. I work hard, damn it, and for my purposes, I did six miles.
Besides, I rationalized, I did start the app a little late. Surely I missed a hundredth of a mile.
So there we have it. Records set, goals met, and a practically transcendental run in the woods completed. These things, they don't happen on their own. They don't happen by chance. They happen with methodical, patient work. And that's why I do it.
The next time I hit a progress wall, I would do well to remember this.
I sometimes get hard on myself, questioning if I'm doing all I can to improve. My diet slips (sometimes, a lot), and I know that such lapses can have an impact on my running. So while those cookies taste amazing, when I run that evening and fail to improve on my times, I have this internal battle over whether or not it was my fault.
You can see how this sort of mentality would be problematic. I try to be forgiving, but boy, nothing validates training like improvement.
Fortunately for my ego, this week has brought plenty of improvement. Finally.
Each weekend, I go for my long run. Last Saturday's was good, five miles that I accomplished on the treadmill in 1:05:04. My best time for a five yet, though I'm really angling to break an hour. It'll get there!
Sunday, I did my tempo run. A tempo run is meant to be comfortably hard, a stronger push than a long run. I chose to do this by starting at a faster speed, then dropping it ever so slightly after I tired. I didn't want to do intervals - I save those for my speed days, the hard running alternated with recovery walking - so I hoped that easing the speed ever so slightly as needed would help to keep my effort high.
And it worked! I pulled my fasted mile yet, finishing in 10:30 on the nose. After a walk break, I finished out my second mile, barely. A good, strenuous run.
Monday was legs, as detailed earlier, which took me out of commission for most of the week. I managed some moderate intervals on Thursday night and put in a solid workout, but it was just that - a workout. Nothing to write home about.
And so yesterday, it was time for another long run. It was the ideal day for it, overcast and breezy with a very light, very intermittent sprinkling of rain. With the weather delivering exactly what I needed, I chose the trails instead of the treadmill.
It was time to try my first six-miler.
I set out on a familiar route, the one I took on my first long run, taking the turns I hoped would lead me to six miles. The track around the inside of the park was nice enough, but as I crunched over the gravel pathways, I was already fantasizing about the grassy trails outside the fences.
It's hard to explain exactly how perfect the run was. Everything just made sense, from the color of the sky to the temperature of the breeze. By the time I turned out the gate to the nature preserve, my iPod had left Tchaikovsky's Variations on a Rococo Theme and launched into Haydn's Cello Concerto No. 1. I jogged through the loop to Grieg's Peer Gynt, pounding across a field as our hero entered the hall of the Mountain King.
And it had just begun to rain when Vaughan Williams' Five Variants of Dives and Lazarus started, a piece that I find somehow emotionally overwhelming. One of the first times I remember listening to it, in high school, it was pouring rain outside. Ever since then, the piece reminds me of rain.
Pretty fantastic coincidence, if I do say so myself.
Anyway. I had been running for an hour (well, run/walking, as you all probably know by now) and I was still feeling fresh. Happy, even.
Free.
And there, in that instant, I was reminded of why I do this. The numbers are great, the struggle builds an abundance of character. But this feeling of pure, unmitigated freedom makes every last drop of sweat, every difficult tempo run, every muscle cramp worth it. Those lead to this. They make it possible.
The feeling didn't last forever, of course. Around mile five, my body said "Excuse me, isn't this when you usually stop?" The final mile was lethargic, done out of necessity because I was off in the woods all alone. I pushed myself, wanting to meet my goal of 1:30 for the six, unwilling to ruin the magic by checking my progress to see if it was even possible.
Clocks are good at ruining magic.
As I reached the end of the trail, I pulled out my phone to check RunKeeper. And I laughed out loud.
5.99 miles in 1:29:40. Of course.
I decided right then to exercise a point of privilege. I work hard, damn it, and for my purposes, I did six miles.
Besides, I rationalized, I did start the app a little late. Surely I missed a hundredth of a mile.
So there we have it. Records set, goals met, and a practically transcendental run in the woods completed. These things, they don't happen on their own. They don't happen by chance. They happen with methodical, patient work. And that's why I do it.
The next time I hit a progress wall, I would do well to remember this.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Jealousy, aka Getting on with it, already
I've struggled numerous times in this journey, predictably dealing with the problems of plateaus and injuries, but only recently have I wrestled with an issue that I never saw coming.
That issue is jealousy.
If you had mentioned that I would get derailed over jealousy and the feelings of inferiority that accompany it, I don't think I would have believed you. I would have lifted my chin and said confidently that every body is different and will see results differently. I would have marched back to the gym and not spared it a second thought.
But coping with friends who are somehow losing enormous amounts of weight in very little time, all while shrugging their shoulders and saying "I don't know how I did it! I just changed my diet a little!" has proven to be a bigger challenge than I could have ever expected.
I'm happy for my friends. Really, truly, and entirely. Weight loss is hard and I applaud anyone who finds a safe way to achieve success. This life is precious and brief. The ability to make it better, in whatever way, is meaningful.
Still, the bitter sadness found a way through my pride and settled into a corner of my heart. My goals have been realistic and attainable. I have worked and sweated and cried. I have injured myself. I have fought.
And I have fallen short.
The inferiority complex I've been harboring has been immensely destructive. I've found myself falling into old patterns. I'm drinking hundreds of calories a day, I'm having impulsive snacks that I immediately regret, I'm eating late at night to fill some void that can't be filled by food. For weeks, I've slid slowly backward.
Yesterday, at long last, I started to break free. I put away the excuses - most of them, anyway - and have begun taking responsibility for myself again. I decided I was done hating myself for these temporary setbacks that I was unfairly labeling "failures".
They're not failures. I'm not a failure.
The good news is that I haven't gained any of my weight back. I have (mostly) kept my calories in check, despite my horrible choices. I was still running, and in retrospect, I can see that I was doing good things. I was just refusing to acknowledge it.
This is why I keep this record of my journey. To give myself credit. Submerged in self-loathing, I forgot that part.
So here I am, being honest with myself. I have lost 41 pounds. Tonight, I weighed in at 197. I ran for more than twenty minutes without stopping.
I ran for two miles without stopping.
Sitting here now, being able to own this success without criticizing myself, it makes everything better. It makes me better.
And that's what this is all about.
That issue is jealousy.
If you had mentioned that I would get derailed over jealousy and the feelings of inferiority that accompany it, I don't think I would have believed you. I would have lifted my chin and said confidently that every body is different and will see results differently. I would have marched back to the gym and not spared it a second thought.
But coping with friends who are somehow losing enormous amounts of weight in very little time, all while shrugging their shoulders and saying "I don't know how I did it! I just changed my diet a little!" has proven to be a bigger challenge than I could have ever expected.
I'm happy for my friends. Really, truly, and entirely. Weight loss is hard and I applaud anyone who finds a safe way to achieve success. This life is precious and brief. The ability to make it better, in whatever way, is meaningful.
Still, the bitter sadness found a way through my pride and settled into a corner of my heart. My goals have been realistic and attainable. I have worked and sweated and cried. I have injured myself. I have fought.
And I have fallen short.
The inferiority complex I've been harboring has been immensely destructive. I've found myself falling into old patterns. I'm drinking hundreds of calories a day, I'm having impulsive snacks that I immediately regret, I'm eating late at night to fill some void that can't be filled by food. For weeks, I've slid slowly backward.
Yesterday, at long last, I started to break free. I put away the excuses - most of them, anyway - and have begun taking responsibility for myself again. I decided I was done hating myself for these temporary setbacks that I was unfairly labeling "failures".
They're not failures. I'm not a failure.
The good news is that I haven't gained any of my weight back. I have (mostly) kept my calories in check, despite my horrible choices. I was still running, and in retrospect, I can see that I was doing good things. I was just refusing to acknowledge it.
This is why I keep this record of my journey. To give myself credit. Submerged in self-loathing, I forgot that part.
So here I am, being honest with myself. I have lost 41 pounds. Tonight, I weighed in at 197. I ran for more than twenty minutes without stopping.
I ran for two miles without stopping.
Sitting here now, being able to own this success without criticizing myself, it makes everything better. It makes me better.
And that's what this is all about.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
January wrap-up
At the beginning of the new year, I set three goals for myself for the month of January:
1. Put in 30mi on the treadmill.
2. Put in two extra sessions per week to work on weights.
3. Stay faithful to my food plan every day.
I fell short of my first goal, logging 20.3 miles on the treadmill in January. This was slightly less than I did in December.
I'll give myself a pass, though, in light of the fact that I put in 75.8 miles on the treadmill, elliptical, and stationary bike combined. I only managed 36.1 miles of cardio in December.
My second goal was met by putting in long sessions, rather than additional ones. I've gotten in the habit of doing at least some lifting before nearly every session. The benefits of this, I think, were reflected in my muscular endurance during last night's evaluation. It's definitely paid off!
The third goal was a mixed bag, though it was mostly a success. There were only a handful of days in January that I didn't record everything I ate, and those weren't because I didn't want to. On the days I allow myself to eat more freely and worry less, I don't always have stats on my foods handy. Maybe I ate at a restaurant or with my parents.
So while I didn't have the means to monitor everything, I still feel that I did well. Well enough, anyway.
That brings us to February. With the new month, I have some new goals for myself.
Cut out soda.
I'll allow myself one diet with breakfast, as I don't drink coffee and I appreciate a little caffeine in the morning, but that's it. This may be the hardest goal I've set yet. Giving up chocolate was nothing compared to giving up soda. Yikes.
Run a two- or three-miler every weekend.
I'd like to get some structure into my cardio, so I'll shoot for doing endurance on the treadmill on weekends. I made awesome progress on my mile time this week without running for speed even once over the past month, and I hope that continuing to work on various skills will return such results again.
Do my sit-ups and push-ups twice a week.
When I started this journey, I always did these. When I started demanding more of myself, some of the simpler exercises fell by the wayside. I need to get them back into my rotation, whether it's on the days I do weights or on alternate days.
So! Three new goals for a new month. Will I make it? Stay tuned!
1. Put in 30mi on the treadmill.
2. Put in two extra sessions per week to work on weights.
3. Stay faithful to my food plan every day.
I fell short of my first goal, logging 20.3 miles on the treadmill in January. This was slightly less than I did in December.
I'll give myself a pass, though, in light of the fact that I put in 75.8 miles on the treadmill, elliptical, and stationary bike combined. I only managed 36.1 miles of cardio in December.
My second goal was met by putting in long sessions, rather than additional ones. I've gotten in the habit of doing at least some lifting before nearly every session. The benefits of this, I think, were reflected in my muscular endurance during last night's evaluation. It's definitely paid off!
The third goal was a mixed bag, though it was mostly a success. There were only a handful of days in January that I didn't record everything I ate, and those weren't because I didn't want to. On the days I allow myself to eat more freely and worry less, I don't always have stats on my foods handy. Maybe I ate at a restaurant or with my parents.
So while I didn't have the means to monitor everything, I still feel that I did well. Well enough, anyway.
That brings us to February. With the new month, I have some new goals for myself.
Cut out soda.
I'll allow myself one diet with breakfast, as I don't drink coffee and I appreciate a little caffeine in the morning, but that's it. This may be the hardest goal I've set yet. Giving up chocolate was nothing compared to giving up soda. Yikes.
Run a two- or three-miler every weekend.
I'd like to get some structure into my cardio, so I'll shoot for doing endurance on the treadmill on weekends. I made awesome progress on my mile time this week without running for speed even once over the past month, and I hope that continuing to work on various skills will return such results again.
Do my sit-ups and push-ups twice a week.
When I started this journey, I always did these. When I started demanding more of myself, some of the simpler exercises fell by the wayside. I need to get them back into my rotation, whether it's on the days I do weights or on alternate days.
So! Three new goals for a new month. Will I make it? Stay tuned!
Thursday, January 5, 2012
So far, so good
The new year is off to a solid start. It's only the 5th, but credit where credit is due.
This week's lineup is a little tamer than usual, with the legs session on Monday having put a dent in my cardio. My goal of 30mi on the treadmill this month is stuck in neutral, so I know I'm going to have an uphill battle with this week out of contention.
I accomplished two days of independent weight training, Sunday and tonight, and I'm pretty stinkin' happy about it. Would really like to do legs, but I'm still a little broken, so I've been stuck with arms.
The diet has been good, though challenging. The cravings have been persistent over the past few days, I feel desperate for sugar around 10am despite being full from breakfast. I think I need to rethink my breakfast, eat less, and pack some kind of protein snack for the morning. I still haven't found a protein bar I like, but I may need to suck it up and have one anyway.
I gave in today at lunch and had a scoop of ice cream. My calories are still good today, my ratios aren't completely destroyed, but I'm disappointed that I gave in. I also got a little sick afterward, which didn't really surprise me.
Every day is still a battle with food. My friends pat me on the back for not snacking all day like I used to, for saying "no" to treats that are passed around the office. They couldn't do it, they say. It makes me feel especially brave.
Sometimes, though, they say it's okay if I just have one. I know they mean well.
But what they don't understand is that I'm afraid. I'm afraid that eating that one piece of candy will make me need it all the time. I'm afraid of the compulsion, I'm afraid of the food obsession. I'm afraid of undoing everything I've done. I don't want to be that person anymore, and every day I'm terrified I will be again.
I know that one piece of candy doesn't have enough calories to do me in. Some days, I'll even eat it. But most days, it's not about the one piece of candy that I can't have. It's about the rest of the bag I would finish off if I went back to being that woman I was before.
I won't let that happen. Tomorrow, I work to fix my food plan to fight those cravings better. I keep saying "no". I keep moving forward.
This week's lineup is a little tamer than usual, with the legs session on Monday having put a dent in my cardio. My goal of 30mi on the treadmill this month is stuck in neutral, so I know I'm going to have an uphill battle with this week out of contention.
I accomplished two days of independent weight training, Sunday and tonight, and I'm pretty stinkin' happy about it. Would really like to do legs, but I'm still a little broken, so I've been stuck with arms.
The diet has been good, though challenging. The cravings have been persistent over the past few days, I feel desperate for sugar around 10am despite being full from breakfast. I think I need to rethink my breakfast, eat less, and pack some kind of protein snack for the morning. I still haven't found a protein bar I like, but I may need to suck it up and have one anyway.
I gave in today at lunch and had a scoop of ice cream. My calories are still good today, my ratios aren't completely destroyed, but I'm disappointed that I gave in. I also got a little sick afterward, which didn't really surprise me.
Every day is still a battle with food. My friends pat me on the back for not snacking all day like I used to, for saying "no" to treats that are passed around the office. They couldn't do it, they say. It makes me feel especially brave.
Sometimes, though, they say it's okay if I just have one. I know they mean well.
But what they don't understand is that I'm afraid. I'm afraid that eating that one piece of candy will make me need it all the time. I'm afraid of the compulsion, I'm afraid of the food obsession. I'm afraid of undoing everything I've done. I don't want to be that person anymore, and every day I'm terrified I will be again.
I know that one piece of candy doesn't have enough calories to do me in. Some days, I'll even eat it. But most days, it's not about the one piece of candy that I can't have. It's about the rest of the bag I would finish off if I went back to being that woman I was before.
I won't let that happen. Tomorrow, I work to fix my food plan to fight those cravings better. I keep saying "no". I keep moving forward.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Setting new goals
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!
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!
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