Thursday, December 01, 2005

How Quickly the Mighty Fall

Went running last night. More like, “Went shambling along last night.”

Oh, the pain. Oh, the wheezing. Oh, the phlegm.

It’s entirely too cold to go outside and run, so I jogged on our treadmill. I had specially moved a bunch of stuff around in the garage the other day so I could get at the thing and at least have the pretense of being able to run when I felt like it was time.

I’m not sure that time has actually arrived.

Back at the end of September I was running about 18-20 miles per week. The last long run I did was 8 miles. My resting heart rate was in the high 40s. I was sporting some really cool looking leg muscles, too. In short, I was feeling mighty proud of my little self. Then I stopped because of the eye surgery. Then I got all into the house remodel. Then, I re-found the forbidden love of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. Luckily, I haven’t put that much weight back on, but driving home I decided that it was high time I got back on the stick and ran a bit. The SLC marathon is almost exactly six months from now. I really need the entire six months to get to the point I can do it, I think.

Oy vey, is it ever humbling to get back on the ‘mill. Starting out last night my goal was to do an easy 2 miles. About twenty minutes or so of running. My “easy” pace is about 6 miles/hour or one mile every ten minutes. I’ve done a 10K at an 8:20 min./mile pace, but that’s moving pretty fast for me.

Here’s a blow-by-blow of the ONE STUPID MILE I ran last night.

Mile .1: Not too bad. Yeah, I can do two miles. This isn’t going to be a problem.

Mile .21: Hmmm. Let’s think about this. If I do two miles tonight, I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to walk in the morning. Do I need to be able to walk in the AM? Yes. Yes, I do need to be able to walk. So, no two miler tonight. I’ll just say that tonight was a first step and call it a day. Ten minutes. One mile. Then walk for twenty. That’ll be fine.

Mile .25: One quarter of the way done. One lap. Just three more of those to do. I can do that, right?

Mile .3: I need to spit. I have that horrible snotty spit in my mouth. I’m in the garage and there’s all this furniture we moved out of the basement. Stupid remodel is taking forever. I wonder if I wired those outlets properly last night? Well, the house hasn’t burned down yet, that’s a plus. Man, this spit is gross. And I’m about to hack up a lung here. Too gross to spit, even if it is on he bare cement I’d hit. Reha would kill me if she knew I’d spit basically IN our house, even if it is the garage. That’d totally gross her out. Just clear your throat and swallow. Ugh.

Mile .31: OK, I’m spitting this crap out. Yuck. If I aim just right I can clear the bookshelf and it’ll pass right by the Lay-Z-Boy.

Mile .32: I’ll clean that up when I’m done. Oops.

Mile .33: Hey! I’m a third of the way! Only two-thirds to go. And maybe I should only do a half mile tonight. My left calf feels a little weird. Wouldn’t want to over-exert myself or pull something.

Mile .38: Almost halfway. I’m breathing OK. I can do the whole mile. Can’t believe I thought I’d go two. That was a pipe dream. That was cavemen staring up at the moon and saying they’d visit in a fortnight or two.

Mile .42: Can not believe I ever went over three miles. Am I sure I really did that? And I think I was totally fooling myself about ever having run a 10K in under 55 minutes.

Mile .5: Halfway! Five minutes elapsed. I think the timer is slow.

Mile .56: Hey, this treadmill has those handrail things that take my pulse. I can just “take my pulse” for a while. It’s not resting on the handles if you are taking your pulse.

Mile .58: Heart rate is 172. What’s my max heart rate again? Where’s my fat burning anaerobic threshold again? 214 minus my age. How old am I? 214 minus 38 equals… Carry the one. Wait, what’s twenty minus 3? Am I sure I’m supposed to subtract? Maybe I’m supposed to add my age to 214. Where was I? I can’t figure this out. My heart doesn’t feel like it’s going to explode. Let’s just leave it at that.

Mile .62: I should stop taking my pulse now. My arms are getting tired of holding up part of my body weight.

Mile .63: Look down. Oh my sweet Mammie’s corn bread. Look at that gut. It’s bouncing. That’s totally gross. I’m doing this every day until the bouncing fat globule that is my belly is gone. Ugh.

Mile .66: Two thirds done. Yeah. I can make this.

Mile .7: It’s hot. It’s like 14 degrees in this garage and I’m still sweating like a pig. I’m taking this shirt off.

Mile .71: Take off the shirt. Oh man, now I can really see the gut. I’m putting the shirt back on. Yuck.

Mile .78: Less than a quarter of a mile. That’s like less than a lap. I can make it one more lap, can’t I?

Mile .82: If I stop here, I could theoretically just walk the rest of the way. I’ve gotten most of the aerobic/anaerobic exercise I’m going to get tonight, after all.

Mile .825: NO! Keep going, you big loser. It’s like less than two downtown SLC city blocks. It’s like going to Big City Soup from work. That’s not far.

Mile .83: Mmmm. Soup. I’m so going to eat soup tomorrow for lunch.

Mile .86: It is just me or am I wheezing?

Mile .88: I’m totally wheezing. How pathetic is this?

Mile .90: One more block! Less than a minute to go. You can do this.

Mile .95: Screw it! I’m going to go another mile. I did one. I should go ahead and do another.

Mile .96: Not doing another mile. Whatever part of me said that thing about doing another mile was obviously not paying attention to what’s happening with the rest of my body.

Mile 1.0: Done! Hit the slow down to 4 MPH button. Oh, sweet blessed cool down walk. I love you, 4 MPH button. You make me happy. You are the best button in the whole wide world.

I walked for another 20 minutes. I did a shot or two of Albuterol because I was totally wheezing. (I get a bit asthmatic when I run in the cold air, but this was mostly from being a sad plump man who could barely stumble his way to a mile tonight). It’s incredibly sad (and painful) to know how quickly you can fall out of shape. And sadly, right now the shape I am is a fat, juicy pear shape. Or maybe I’m an Isosceles triangle.

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