In an effort to train for a 5K, I decided to start a run/walk combo program called Couch25k. It's pretty awesome. Combining it with Weight Watchers, I have made the effort to get healthier for my 32nd year. I've signed up for two 5K's. One in October and one in November. Both will be fun times. If I don't die. Though having survived one day of training after a bottle of Malbec and half a pizza, I think I can do anything. They may frown on wine consumption at the Foster and Adoptive Parents Association 5K, but what they don't know won't hurt them, right? IT'S FOR A GOOD CAUSE, HIC!
I really am taking this health stuff as seriously as I can. There are definitely days when I know for a fact that I will not be very successful in my training. My leg hurts. My nose is full of snot and I can barely breathe when walking let alone running. Allergies are super bad this time of year. My asthma kicks into high gear and I'm panting like Kevin after an especially trying wang snarfling. But I do it anyway. The diet is difficult, as my brain keeps telling me that half a bag of Smartfood popcorn is equivalent to a balanced meal. But I put the points in and register the fact that I'm over...under...above..beyond. I'm taking full responsibility for what I put in my body (not THAT, pervs.) I'm not fudging what I eat anymore. Mmm. Fudge.
Every time I go out I say to myself, "Just get to that tree." "Just run til you pass that light post." "Breathe into your diaphragm and out of your mouth....you've got this." Then I swallow a bug, or one flies up my nose, or I run into a spider web. And I laugh.
This past Saturday, I decided to run in the afternoon. I needed to get my 3rd day of week 3 out of the way. I was wearing a 3 quarter sleeve shirt, and it was freaking hot. I got back to my apartment, with my legs on fire and my lungs puffing, sweat dripping down my face. My roommate was sitting in the living room watching television, and I flopped onto the floor to recover. "Are you ok?" she asked, a concerned look on her face as I lay there with my arm flung across my head, panting and trying to recover my ability to breathe normally.
If I could have uttered anything, I would have told her that I was fine, wonderful, fantastic. Because I've finally discovered the me that wants to be an athlete. The me that is ignoring the gawky nerd that I have seen in the mirror since I was 8 years old. The new me, who wants to challenge her body to better her soul. The new me who got her bike fixed yesterday and felt like she was flying as she rode 3 miles around her neighborhood. The one who really needs a new seat for her bike now, as her ass hurts even when sitting on her comfy desk chair. And, who looks really, really stupid in her new helmet. What? I have a giant head.
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