Well…
I
am not much of a blogger that is for sure. 2011, DeeDee, really? Oh well.
Some
stuff has changed: I have decided I would sooner run naked through Time Square
while shouting “Trump 2016” then teach in the public school system. So much for
my foray into education. Instead, I found myself a nice, comfortable rut to
work into: full time college bookstore maven. The hours are good, the work varies
enough that I am not totally bored to tears, and there is a good deal of
flexibility. It cost me $10,000 in student loans to get the job, but here I am.
Also,
I started running. The start of the job and the start of the running happened
about three years apart, but that pretty much sums up everything since my last
post. Just kidding. But all that stuff will wait.
And
yes, I can hear your groan…the collective, “shit, not another fitness blog.”
But I don’t care. Because I do what I want. Also, because I like running and
that is what I feel like talking about. Also also, because I have a tendency
for petulance. Also also also, you get the idea.
So,
running, am I right? No, I am not right. I am convinced I have completely lost
my mind. I always played sports: soccer, basketball, softball, rugby, kayaking,
and whatever else I could convince a few other people to play. But I always
hated running. And then at some point—probably between turning 30 and getting
married—I just kind of stopped sports and physical activity almost altogether. I
got caught up in life. Having a fantastic time with my wife, constantly working
on the house to keep it from falling down around our ears, and a million other
things all became more important.
And
there is nothing wrong with that. I feel no guilt that I would rather hang out
with my wife than do just about anything else. In fact, I feel totally lucky,
spoiled, blessed—however you view the world, whatever you want to call it—that I
married the one person on Earth who I always want to be around. No, I do not
want to spend an hour after work exercising…I would much rather go home.
Unfortunately,
I have neither the self-restraint nor the metabolism to maintain a really
sedentary lifestyle. Also, we went from sharing a car when I was taking classes
(because I had a lot of free time and could walk everywhere) to having two cars
(and my having a full-time job that requires me to sit in front of a computer
for about 37 hours a week). Surprise, surprise, I gained a lot of weight. And
huffed and puffed when I walked up stairs. And didn’t like the way my clothes
fit. And and and. But this is not a blog about my years of struggling with weight
and body image…at least not mostly.
Then
in June something changed. Many things changed, or happened. The stars aligned;
a friend who was also out of shape started running with a running group; I
realized that by the end of the month I would be closer to 40 than I was to 30;
the weather was especially good; I bought a pair of sneakers; I came across a
couch to 5k running app… Like I said, many things. I started thinking about
getting in shape. Maybe I would start walking or jogging just a little. My
upcoming 36th birthday was casting a long shadow. And I know that 35
is not old. That 36 is not old. I get that. But I also know that each year it
was easier to gain weight and harder to walk up the stairs. I know that genetics are against me. I know that I married the love of my life and want to
have a long life, indeed.
So
I started. Slowly. So goddamn slowly. Just 60 seconds of jogging alternated
with 90 seconds of walking. And it was hard. I played three sports in high
school, two in college, won a state championship, got voted player of the year, all of that, and I could not jog for 60
seconds. Seriously. Seriously? Being 35 and just more than a half sucked. I
wasn’t bullet proof anymore, even though that is still how I saw myself. I was
literally the “attractive running woman/derpy fleshy bassett hound running”
meme.
But
I kept going. And it hurt. It hurt so badly after two weeks that I couldn’t
walk properly. So I had to stop. I cried—I finally had gotten the courage to
start and I couldn’t keep on going…this was it, I was never going to get my
nerve up again. But as soon as I felt better, I started again. Even slower than
the last time. I started stretching. I took walks on my 10 minute breaks. I
took walks on my lunch breaks. And, GASP, I even started to eat just a tiny bit
better. A little less sugar. I would skip dessert once or twice a week. I tried
not to have seconds of dinner. Tiny changes.
And
tiny changes somehow combined and through the magic of synergy—or some other
bullshit buzzword—became bigger changes. I lost a little weight, running got a
little easier, and then I was just a little more motivated to eat better. I
started running more, so I needed better nutrition, so I ate a little healthier
still, and I lost some more weight.
I
said that 35 and just more than a half sucked. But 35 and staring down the barrel
of 36 (just over six weeks away if you are counting at home) is pretty f#@*ing
great. I have lost 36 pounds (seems fitting, all of a sudden, as I write this),
I run about 3 miles three to four times a week, I am participating in my second
5k this weekend, and I am already planning my winter training and my first 10k
for the spring. I feel better than I have in ten years.
I said I never liked running. And here
is what sucked about it when I was younger: too much time alone with my
thoughts. But that is another great thing about passing the halfway mark of
your 30s…I don’t mind being alone inside my head anymore. I listen to podcasts
and think about the stories they tell. And sometimes I drift off and think
about small, mundane things like what I have to do that day. Other times I go
outside at 6:00 in the morning and am so stunned by the beauty of the
still-dark sky that I get thinking about the enormity of the universe—you know,
big things.
Anyway, it’s good. And maybe you
should try it some time. And I know, I know, you hate running. But what I mean
is, be good to yourself. Carve out an hour a few times a week to take good care
of yourself. You might just be surprised how that starts to leak into the rest
of your life.
Me and my first bib :)
4 MILES!!!
