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Crying Freak

I wish I could do that I-dream-of-jeannie-head-bob thing or the samantha-nose-wiggle and just presto! I'm thin.


I almost quit. I almost quit. That's what I keep telling myself. I almost quit. Today's plan was to do another set of those 4:1 walk/run combos on the treadmill. I get down there I get dressed I get on the Treadmill. Five minute warm up followed by a healthy stretch session. So far so good. But 2 minutes following my first 1 minute run both my shins seized up.

It was so bad, so so bad. I could barely lift my toes off the floor I had such a limited range of motion. I stretched and stretched until I could flex the shins relatively painlessly before I started back up. It was useless both shins were completely enflamed before I'd even made it through a 4 minute walk at a comfortable pace.

Pissed, frustrated, I tossed in the towel and went to the ladies. While I'm using the loo, I'm wondering if I'd be able to tolerate the elliptical or the stationary bike or if I should call it a loss; head back upstairs and eat my pasta salad. But I squared my shoulders and decided to hell with this I'm trying again. I got back on that fucking treadmill; I ended up doing the 4:1 walk/run for 36 minutes and then, since I felt good, I decided to take a little half mile jog!

Oh yes I did. A half mile, non-stop, which is twice the distance I managed just 7 days ago. I'm not ashamed to say I cried, out of pure unadulterated joy. And when my department head asked if I was okay sniffled out: "yeah, hamstring pull"

it's bad enough I'm the bright red, sweaty chick that mouths the words to her music, I do not want to be the freak that cries on the treadmill



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