Whoa look at me, getting all brave! I did it. I took the plunge. I joined not one, but two, running clubs. True confession: I have never run with anyone else (except mandatory PE days... I cringe at those memories!) I have never run with other people because I was too intimidated, too afraid that I would look like a joke, too afraid that I couldn't keep up. And maybe, too afraid to admit that I really want to be a runner.
But after looking and looking for clubs to join (I figured I could, you know, silently look at their message boards or something) I finally found some near me. Thanks RRCA! And one of them looks like it might be a great starting place, maybe even filled with average people, not those superathletes that could run from here to the moon. It says "Let's Run: We're running a 5k. Can't run that far? No worries, walk it out. That's what we're here for!"
And the plan is that I might actually run with them. I RSVP'ed to Thursday's event. I'm excited. And nervous. And definitely not wearing spandex.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Monday, April 16, 2012
Falling off the wagon
"Old habits die hard" is what I've heard. Or "You can't teach an old dog new tricks."
There's some truth to those sayings-- I guess that's why they're cliches! My husband and I were doing pretty well...until we went Spring Breaking. We made resolutions that we would continue with Weight Watchers and exercising, even while away.
I walked the first two days. But then we got busy. Then we remembered what good food there was to be had as we journeyed to some of our favorite places. Then we went to the movies-- where popcorn became a certain necessity. Then we cooked some really great meals, and portion control was a sad afterthought.
Long story short: spring break was an adventure in falling off the wagon. And I'm not gonna lie-- it felt kinda good. Except that I was nasueated a good part of the time because my blood sugar levels seemed to have the heebeyjeebies. Except that I didn't have as much energy and never had a "good" run. Except that all I wanted to do was eat. Except that my previously loose pants seemed to have shrunk overnight. Hmm...maybe it wasn't as good as I thought it was.
On our last day away, we saw an old friend. She's lost 40lbs through diet and exercise. She looked great. And while I'm immensely happy for her, I'm also jealous...or at least motivated again! Sometimes the idea of losing as much weight as I need to lose is daunting. It's helpful to see people who have actually made it happen for them-- even if I wanted to call her names.
Look out, wagon. The Pudgy Parson rides again!
There's some truth to those sayings-- I guess that's why they're cliches! My husband and I were doing pretty well...until we went Spring Breaking. We made resolutions that we would continue with Weight Watchers and exercising, even while away.
I walked the first two days. But then we got busy. Then we remembered what good food there was to be had as we journeyed to some of our favorite places. Then we went to the movies-- where popcorn became a certain necessity. Then we cooked some really great meals, and portion control was a sad afterthought.
Long story short: spring break was an adventure in falling off the wagon. And I'm not gonna lie-- it felt kinda good. Except that I was nasueated a good part of the time because my blood sugar levels seemed to have the heebeyjeebies. Except that I didn't have as much energy and never had a "good" run. Except that all I wanted to do was eat. Except that my previously loose pants seemed to have shrunk overnight. Hmm...maybe it wasn't as good as I thought it was.
On our last day away, we saw an old friend. She's lost 40lbs through diet and exercise. She looked great. And while I'm immensely happy for her, I'm also jealous...or at least motivated again! Sometimes the idea of losing as much weight as I need to lose is daunting. It's helpful to see people who have actually made it happen for them-- even if I wanted to call her names.
Look out, wagon. The Pudgy Parson rides again!
Losing and Finding
Sorry for the blogging hiatus! Lent makes pastors lose their minds with crazyness-- and this pudgy parson was no exception! But here I am-- mentally back intact, slightly less pudgy (umm 1.5 inches lost in my thighs, nearly 3 lost in my hips...thank you, Weight Watchers--and running my...butt...off!) and ready, once again, to do this thing.
On March 17-- I lost. I had been training for a 5k with the hopes of finally running the whole thing. I was ready, mentally and physically. I had my faithful cheering squad positioned at the finish line, where I was going to be seen smiling from ear to ear as my face said, "Yeah. I did that. Now what?" Only it didn't go that way. I'd been nursing a nasty case of shin splints for several weeks, and on the day of the race, they decided to be particularly mean. A mile into the race, I sent my husband the text "1 mile down, and I'm about to cry from pain." I tried to jog really gently, but my legs were done. To have continued would have meant sure injury. So I walked. I managed to sprint the last quarter mile, but my spirit was crushed and angry. And just because my body was really spiteful, crawling into bed that night, I seem to have pulled an overly tight hamstring. I limped through church--and had to explain to my well meaning but curious parishioners that I hurt myself running. I had to stomach the not so well hidden "Running? Really? With how big you are?"looks. I lost that day. I lost a notion that races have to go as planned to be successful. I lost a need to prove something to myself, even at the cost of injury. I lost the belief that I could make my body my slave (that's scriptural!). But I didn't just lose that day. I found.
I found a desire to try again, a deep seated belief that I needed to work with and listen to my body. I found truth in the idea that every step counts, and that to have finished the race at all made it successful. As soon as the hamstring healed, I walked a few days. I began slowly running. I started training for a 10k. And I've picked out another 5k (and a half marathon...in december...but that's another story. A girl always needs a dream!)
The pudgy parson might have "lost" the race. Or maybe the pudgy parson found what it is to be a real athlete. Either way, she's happy that she's a little less pudgy-- because that was the goal to begin with!
On March 17-- I lost. I had been training for a 5k with the hopes of finally running the whole thing. I was ready, mentally and physically. I had my faithful cheering squad positioned at the finish line, where I was going to be seen smiling from ear to ear as my face said, "Yeah. I did that. Now what?" Only it didn't go that way. I'd been nursing a nasty case of shin splints for several weeks, and on the day of the race, they decided to be particularly mean. A mile into the race, I sent my husband the text "1 mile down, and I'm about to cry from pain." I tried to jog really gently, but my legs were done. To have continued would have meant sure injury. So I walked. I managed to sprint the last quarter mile, but my spirit was crushed and angry. And just because my body was really spiteful, crawling into bed that night, I seem to have pulled an overly tight hamstring. I limped through church--and had to explain to my well meaning but curious parishioners that I hurt myself running. I had to stomach the not so well hidden "Running? Really? With how big you are?"looks. I lost that day. I lost a notion that races have to go as planned to be successful. I lost a need to prove something to myself, even at the cost of injury. I lost the belief that I could make my body my slave (that's scriptural!). But I didn't just lose that day. I found.
I found a desire to try again, a deep seated belief that I needed to work with and listen to my body. I found truth in the idea that every step counts, and that to have finished the race at all made it successful. As soon as the hamstring healed, I walked a few days. I began slowly running. I started training for a 10k. And I've picked out another 5k (and a half marathon...in december...but that's another story. A girl always needs a dream!)
The pudgy parson might have "lost" the race. Or maybe the pudgy parson found what it is to be a real athlete. Either way, she's happy that she's a little less pudgy-- because that was the goal to begin with!
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