I've decided I have to work out more. This one weekend a month thing is not going to work for me. When I do that, the workouts KILL me. I wind up exhausted and sore. I feel good for having done it, but man.
Here's something I've noticed lately, as I move out of my comfort zone. See, I am good at the elliptical. I can knock out 40 minutes no problem, and I can go longer. Mostly I get bored. Seriously.
But I decided to start to run. Now, there's no way around it--I'm a big guy. But I went to the fancy running store after doing my research, and I bought good shoes (the Brooks Beast--very comfortable, no pronating). I use the free Endomondo app to keep track of things (distance, pace, etc). (Neither Brooks nor Endomondo is paying me, but I am willing to take their money.)
I have always hated running. I was the fat kid (often the slowest fat kid) in gym class, and even when I was a shotputter, I was slow and not good. I dreaded running. I HATED running. Aside from the degree of difficulty, it just made me feel bad. I find that now, I approach running the same way. I feel like I'm 12 or 14 again. I dread it. I put it off. I worry that I won't be able to do it, that people will see me and laugh. This is how I grew up, after all. But that really hasn't happened. It is really hard to do, and I suck wind, and my legs hurt, but I do better than I thought I could, and I enjoy it more than I expect. Thanks to some encouragement from people who are real runners, especially Tanya (see 90in9.wordpress.com at right), I feel as though I might be able to do it.
I ran Saturday. I biked Sunday (same process, but glad to have done it).
I have resolved to do this at least three times a week, four if I can fit it in.
New goal--I want to lose 100 pounds in the next ten years (so when my girls are 11, I can race around with them). That seems doable. Never know, I guess. Right now I'm going to focus on the healthy part. As big as I am, I am in decent shape. My pulse is in the low 60s (for the first time ever). So there's that.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Working on it
Do you work out when you're sick?
Does working out make you sick?
I have had something wrong--cold, sinus infection--since May. My house, as a friend likes to say, doubles as a petri dish, thanks to two babies. I find that just about the time I'm getting in the gym groove, I get sick, don't work out, and lose my momentum.
I've resolved to follow what seems to be the conventional wisdom, working out as long as the sick is above the neck. The most recent bout (while I was on vacation, natch) involved the lungs, too, though, so I didn't work out at all. I'd had high hopes for working on the running. Dashed.
I wonder if I get exposed to stuff at the gym, too. I must, but I wonder if I'm just running myself down.
Don't get me wrong. I enjoy the gym. The only bad part is making myself go. I'm glad to be there and glad to have gone. I don't need an excuse not to go.
But damn. I'm tired of feeling crappy. Maybe the new gig will help.
Does working out make you sick?
I have had something wrong--cold, sinus infection--since May. My house, as a friend likes to say, doubles as a petri dish, thanks to two babies. I find that just about the time I'm getting in the gym groove, I get sick, don't work out, and lose my momentum.
I've resolved to follow what seems to be the conventional wisdom, working out as long as the sick is above the neck. The most recent bout (while I was on vacation, natch) involved the lungs, too, though, so I didn't work out at all. I'd had high hopes for working on the running. Dashed.
I wonder if I get exposed to stuff at the gym, too. I must, but I wonder if I'm just running myself down.
Don't get me wrong. I enjoy the gym. The only bad part is making myself go. I'm glad to be there and glad to have gone. I don't need an excuse not to go.
But damn. I'm tired of feeling crappy. Maybe the new gig will help.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Here we go again.
So, here's what I've been doing for the last year--raising two babies, being happy at home, and loathing my job.
The four of us--babies, wife, me--we've all put on between fifteen and twenty pounds since the babies came home after a month in the hospital. Preemies, you know.
The girls are doing great. They could even pack on a couple more pounds. They're skinny kids. Who knew I could yield skinny kids?
The rest of us, well, ugh.
I know--know for a fact, because I was conscious of it almost every time--that I spent a good amount of time eating my feelings. It's what I do, or at least what I have done, historically-speaking. I guess I think I couldn't help it. The agitation had to come out somewhere. Food crimes, my act-out of choice. Hey, at least I'm not drinking, or on heroin.
But still. Even at my (pretty high) weight, I notice twenty pounds (this might be a new thing). So it's time to get back to paying attention to what I'm eating and moving more. I don't know about you, but getting sad/depressed does not make it easier for me to get off the couch.
I have a new job, but a long (up to two hour) commute. My eating over the last week has been better, good, even. So the challenge is figuring out when I'm going to exercise. The obvious answer is after the babies go to bed, but I like spending time with my wife, and we can't both leave the house.
The latest workout news is this--I've started running. Meaning, I've bought nice shoes and have run three times (and walked once, when I was sick, because damn it, I needed it). I grew up hating to run. I was a fat kid. Running sucked and so did I. But now, I kind of like it. I still suck at it, but I feel as though I can do it. There's been no foot or joint pain (good shoes), and I don't beat myself up when I have to walk, which is often. I exalt that I can move like this at all. I just turned 46. I have babies. It would be fun to drop a hundred pounds in the next ten or fifteen years so I can run with them. Come to think of it, that's a decent goal.
I hope you're all well.
Skip
The four of us--babies, wife, me--we've all put on between fifteen and twenty pounds since the babies came home after a month in the hospital. Preemies, you know.
The girls are doing great. They could even pack on a couple more pounds. They're skinny kids. Who knew I could yield skinny kids?
The rest of us, well, ugh.
I know--know for a fact, because I was conscious of it almost every time--that I spent a good amount of time eating my feelings. It's what I do, or at least what I have done, historically-speaking. I guess I think I couldn't help it. The agitation had to come out somewhere. Food crimes, my act-out of choice. Hey, at least I'm not drinking, or on heroin.
But still. Even at my (pretty high) weight, I notice twenty pounds (this might be a new thing). So it's time to get back to paying attention to what I'm eating and moving more. I don't know about you, but getting sad/depressed does not make it easier for me to get off the couch.
I have a new job, but a long (up to two hour) commute. My eating over the last week has been better, good, even. So the challenge is figuring out when I'm going to exercise. The obvious answer is after the babies go to bed, but I like spending time with my wife, and we can't both leave the house.
The latest workout news is this--I've started running. Meaning, I've bought nice shoes and have run three times (and walked once, when I was sick, because damn it, I needed it). I grew up hating to run. I was a fat kid. Running sucked and so did I. But now, I kind of like it. I still suck at it, but I feel as though I can do it. There's been no foot or joint pain (good shoes), and I don't beat myself up when I have to walk, which is often. I exalt that I can move like this at all. I just turned 46. I have babies. It would be fun to drop a hundred pounds in the next ten or fifteen years so I can run with them. Come to think of it, that's a decent goal.
I hope you're all well.
Skip
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