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Thursday you are my bitch

I advised my loved ones yesterday that if I don't start seeing some real progress soon I'm quitting. But I think that may have been an empty threat borne of frustration. It's not just that I want to be thin and healthy; or that my 35th birthday is right around the corner; or that my man is so damn pretty everyone, including my mother & my seven year old, are flummoxed at how I landed him and wary of my ability to keep him; but I realized today that I have a very real opportunity to become a runner again. That realization had a profound emotional effect on me but in order to accomplish what I want, I need to stick with the program.

I've been doing the run/walk thing, just two days a week instead of three in honor of the promise I made to myself and my family not to hurt myself by overdoing, and today's was not going great. Five minute warm was bookended with trips to the bathroom. After the second 2 minute run segment, my right shin began to hurt and I suspected it was cause my sneaker felt loose. A peek down revealed the laces weren't coming undone, and that was a relief, but after a few more seconds of feeling the BURN I though shit, can't hurt to retie them. I paused the dreadmill and bent to relace.

But when I stood back up I accidently hit the emergency stop button on the frame and the pause became a full END with my data erased only 12 minutes into my workout. I started over & got 2 minutes in before I had to pee, again. UGGGGH. I ran, there & back, but didn't beat the pause timer. I had to start over yet again. Can you sense the frustration?

I'm supposed to be doing 3 minute walk and 2 minute run intervals for 25 minutes (or 5 sets). At this point, as I start walking again; I add it up and I'd been walking for almost 5 minutes with two breaks. I was not thrilled. My solution was to toss it into higher at the one minute mark and run for 4 full minutes trying to catch up. I had this moment when I went back to the 3 minute walk where I realized a few important things:

1) I wasn't gasping for air;
2) I wasn't nauseas or dizzy;
3) Nothing hurt; and
4) I could've kept going.

I got excited and will admit to a little crazy treadmill dance of joy. At the next 2 minute run interval I just kept going. Before I knew it I was nearing a mile non-stop and really felt like I was going to make it. But somewhere in the back of my mind I could hear my family saying you promised you'd take it easy? you promised you wouldn't push? what if you get hurt again? I shrugged them off and felt a twinge in my right hip.

The previously damaged and nearly ruined hip that almost had to be operated on due to a running injury a few years back when I kept pushing myself beyond my physical limitations. I was positive it was psychosomatic but hell, what if it wasn't? Sigh. I dropped it back to a walk for 3 more minutes and then a light 2 minute run before cool down and then retired to the empty classroom for a good bout of stretch. On a precautionary measure, I went through all the stretches the physical therapist had me doing when I was recovering from said injury. And my right hip screamed at first making me yelp, not just out of pain but out of surprise as well. Guess it was a good idea to dial it back after all. Thank you good old fashioned catholic guilt!

Long story to get to a simple point. I want to run. I picked a race. I don't need to win; I just want to finish. I've got till Mother's day to get my ass in gear. I'll do it. Whether that fucking scale cooperates or not.


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