I am currently on Week 2, Day 2 of the Couch to 5K challenge, and I can say unequivocally that I have never wished for death as much as I do when I am running. This week consists of a 5 minute warm up and a 5 minute cool down combined with 90 seconds of running and 2 minutes of walking. The first 30 seconds of the running intervals feel fantastic. My elbows are tucked in, my shoulders are relaxed and I am running. The next thirty seconds are not as pretty. My hips are out of alignment, my knees are screaming, my calves are burning and I am pretty sure I start limping. The last thirty seconds are a blur. I am pretty sure I black out the last thirty seconds of every run.
Then I am blessed with a two minute reprieve where I can walk. Or at least the clock says two minutes but I swear it skips time and it's only like 20 seconds because I have barely reinflated my lungs with oxygen before it is time to run again. Sweet Jesus, it feels like it will never end. And all I can hear in my head is the Bob/Jillian/Biggest Loser voice that screams, "RUN, FAT GIRL, RUN!!!!" and so I do. Against my better judgement. And against the advice of my fat ass.
And the sick thing is.....I kind of like it. I like the feeling of sweating through my clothes and losing my breath and feeling the endorphins raging through my body. And even when I am sore and tired and kicking myself for opening my big, fat mouth and telling the entire world (aka Facebook) that I was the MAN and that I was going to run a 5k this fall, I actually look forward to the next day I can run. Now THAT is eff'd up.
This weeks has been a "two a day" week combining 45 minutes of yoga with 30 minutes of 5k training because I hit another plateau and didn't lose any weight for a week, despite my committment to exercising and eating well. So, I will fully admit, if I step on the scale today and the number is the same, I am throwing the scale out the 2nd floor window, and I may possible jump after it.
So while I would love to be that motivational cheerleader on the sidelines screaming, "C'Mon girls, we can DO THIS! Strap on your Nikes and let's RUN!", it would be make me the psychological equivalent of that moron that sniffs a gallon of milk and says "Hey, this milk smells bad, can you taste it?". No sir, not the running shoes I intend on filling.