I got out the door a bit earlier today, so I saw the sunrise. Kind of. Again, I only really saw brilliant orange clouds in an otherwise dark sky due to buildings and foliage but man, it's something to see. Somehow it's very different than sunset.
The blisters felt better today. Not great, but better. It was the legs that were hurting. My ankles and calves were so stiff that after 10 minutes I almost decided to head back for fear of hurting myself, which of course, I don't want to do. I pressed on because I'm afraid that the first time I bargain or cut myself slack will just open the floodgates for further, weaker excuses. I made it, and as of lunchtime here, I'm not feeling any ill effects.
Except, of course, from being tired. One day a week of good sleep is not nearly enough.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Week 1 Day 2: Whose Genius Idea Was This Anyway?
I fully expected the first day to be the worst. This was incredibly shortsighted and foolish. Today sucked more by a high order of magnitude. Day one was all nerves. Day two? Day two was all pain.
My run was more of a fast shuffle today as the springs were worn and rusty. The thing, whatever it is, that connects my heel assembly to the calve muscle, or maybe that's just more calve muscle, was very sore. It was tight all of yesterday, but I was hoping a good night's sleep would allow it to heal up a bit. Unfortunately I haven't had good sleep recently.
It was hard to tell which part of me was dogging it and why. Was it getting too little sleep every day of the week but one since like, forever? Was it the sore legs? Was it the seams rubbing against raw skin with each step?
The blisters were both not as bad and worse than I expected. I never knew the proper way to deal with blisters was to pop them. I thought they were to be treated as pimples: just let it be. My feet felt much better after I mauled them. I tried popping them Monday night with a needle, but the needle wasn't sharp enough to go through my tough foot skin, so I had to wait around for a pair of sharp scissors to boil. Yeah, you read right, I hacked at my blisters with a pair of nose scissors. Splort!
(Warning, don't read the above while eating. Especially don't read it if you're about to use mustard and that little bit of yellow mustard juice just ran out onto your sandwich because you forgot to shake it enough. Yeah, don't read the above then think about that.)
The blisters on my big toes felt pretty good today. Not peachy keen, but easy enough to ignore. The blisters on the inside arch of my foot, however, were on fire. Friction every step. In the end I couldn't wait to get back home, stretch again, shower, and... go to work. I could have gone right to bed, to be honest.
Thing is, today's run almost didn't happen. To describe it, I wish there were a way to measure discrete amounts of will, and in addition, that there was a way to adequately communicate the experience of having just one little bit of that will left to do a thing. Then giving that up. That's where I was this morning, round about 6:12. I'd woken up at 4 and was awake well past 5, so of course I was good and sleepy when the alarm went off at 6. After snoozing a couple times* I rationalized. I'm really tired, yeah? Like, it's probably unhealthy for me to try to exercise without proper sleep, not to mention running on such stiff legs. Yeah. You can always run tomorrow. Turn off the alarm. Sleep in.
I had that one last atomic bit of that resolve to actually get out of bed, go outside, and do the pain thing. And as my hand was on its way to relieve me of it, my phone's alarm, which I set just in case the regular one isn't getting my attention, went off. I begrudgingly got up.
I still have to say I love the shoes. I wish I were wearing them now, though if I were, I'd be tired of answering questions about them, and I do think my blisters would protest. Also, the morning sky is quite a thing to behold. I only wish it weren't obscured by so much urban muck and that I could actually see a horizon.
Let's see what Friday holds.
My run was more of a fast shuffle today as the springs were worn and rusty. The thing, whatever it is, that connects my heel assembly to the calve muscle, or maybe that's just more calve muscle, was very sore. It was tight all of yesterday, but I was hoping a good night's sleep would allow it to heal up a bit. Unfortunately I haven't had good sleep recently.
It was hard to tell which part of me was dogging it and why. Was it getting too little sleep every day of the week but one since like, forever? Was it the sore legs? Was it the seams rubbing against raw skin with each step?
The blisters were both not as bad and worse than I expected. I never knew the proper way to deal with blisters was to pop them. I thought they were to be treated as pimples: just let it be. My feet felt much better after I mauled them. I tried popping them Monday night with a needle, but the needle wasn't sharp enough to go through my tough foot skin, so I had to wait around for a pair of sharp scissors to boil. Yeah, you read right, I hacked at my blisters with a pair of nose scissors. Splort!
(Warning, don't read the above while eating. Especially don't read it if you're about to use mustard and that little bit of yellow mustard juice just ran out onto your sandwich because you forgot to shake it enough. Yeah, don't read the above then think about that.)
The blisters on my big toes felt pretty good today. Not peachy keen, but easy enough to ignore. The blisters on the inside arch of my foot, however, were on fire. Friction every step. In the end I couldn't wait to get back home, stretch again, shower, and... go to work. I could have gone right to bed, to be honest.
Thing is, today's run almost didn't happen. To describe it, I wish there were a way to measure discrete amounts of will, and in addition, that there was a way to adequately communicate the experience of having just one little bit of that will left to do a thing. Then giving that up. That's where I was this morning, round about 6:12. I'd woken up at 4 and was awake well past 5, so of course I was good and sleepy when the alarm went off at 6. After snoozing a couple times* I rationalized. I'm really tired, yeah? Like, it's probably unhealthy for me to try to exercise without proper sleep, not to mention running on such stiff legs. Yeah. You can always run tomorrow. Turn off the alarm. Sleep in.
I had that one last atomic bit of that resolve to actually get out of bed, go outside, and do the pain thing. And as my hand was on its way to relieve me of it, my phone's alarm, which I set just in case the regular one isn't getting my attention, went off. I begrudgingly got up.
I still have to say I love the shoes. I wish I were wearing them now, though if I were, I'd be tired of answering questions about them, and I do think my blisters would protest. Also, the morning sky is quite a thing to behold. I only wish it weren't obscured by so much urban muck and that I could actually see a horizon.
Let's see what Friday holds.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Week 1, Day 1: Blisters and Hills
I had a lot of anxiety about my first run. First of all, I the plan was to get up at 6am, be back by 7.
That sucks.
Second, I was going to be outside. In town. Where there are other people.
That too sucks.
I like working out in private. It's a very solitary thing to me. I feel very self conscious doing it, and the prospect of being in public only made it harder to self motivate.
I'm talking serious anxiety.
Which kinda melted away when I took in a cool breath of air and I saw the orange morning clouds and the blue behind.
Down the corner from me is a student I know. He's very involved and he was standing on his porch in a suit, checking the time. I startled him when I said hi. After all I was in a sweatshirt with the hood up, and besides, what was I doing out at 6:30 anyway?
The first week is three days of the following: a 5 minute walking warm-up followed by 60 seconds of running and 90 seconds of walking, which alternate for 20 minutes. During the warm up I was itching to start running. I was ready.
Running felt... effortless. Really. I mean it felt good. That is, until I ran out of flat land.
At some point I had to go up or down a hill. Both suck. Uphill really kicked my ass and the downhill, well, that sucked because it's just hard. Jarring.
When I read reviews of these shoes online, people were amazed at how they could feel everything on the ground. The textures and everything. I was not impressed in this regard, and I wondered why until realized that I've been wearing the same pair of shoes pretty much daily for the past year and a half, and the soles are wafer thin. I guess I've been practicing.
They say your feet will be sore and tired because they're going to be used to the support of shoes, which lead to weak foot muscles. My feet feel fine, except for the blisters (which I suppose are to be expected). It's my calves which are tired (which is also to be expected, since they're absorbing the body's shock). I had a lot of meetings to walk between today and believe me, I took my time getting to each one.
My spiffy heart rate watch worked the whole time and it was cool to see where my heart-rate was.
I wish I had a flatter place to run, but there's nowhere to go that isn't a drive. It's almost time to pop some blisters, but for now, check out this kicks man.
I was going to get a pair in black, or at least brown, to attract the least amount of attention possible, but really I like the blue pair the best. I just wouldn't have had the guts to buy the blue ones if they weren't the only pair left. On a related note, I'd like a percentage of any pools that open up to bet on the date I get beat up on account of these.
That sucks.
Second, I was going to be outside. In town. Where there are other people.
That too sucks.
I like working out in private. It's a very solitary thing to me. I feel very self conscious doing it, and the prospect of being in public only made it harder to self motivate.
I'm talking serious anxiety.
Which kinda melted away when I took in a cool breath of air and I saw the orange morning clouds and the blue behind.
Down the corner from me is a student I know. He's very involved and he was standing on his porch in a suit, checking the time. I startled him when I said hi. After all I was in a sweatshirt with the hood up, and besides, what was I doing out at 6:30 anyway?
The first week is three days of the following: a 5 minute walking warm-up followed by 60 seconds of running and 90 seconds of walking, which alternate for 20 minutes. During the warm up I was itching to start running. I was ready.
Running felt... effortless. Really. I mean it felt good. That is, until I ran out of flat land.
At some point I had to go up or down a hill. Both suck. Uphill really kicked my ass and the downhill, well, that sucked because it's just hard. Jarring.
When I read reviews of these shoes online, people were amazed at how they could feel everything on the ground. The textures and everything. I was not impressed in this regard, and I wondered why until realized that I've been wearing the same pair of shoes pretty much daily for the past year and a half, and the soles are wafer thin. I guess I've been practicing.
They say your feet will be sore and tired because they're going to be used to the support of shoes, which lead to weak foot muscles. My feet feel fine, except for the blisters (which I suppose are to be expected). It's my calves which are tired (which is also to be expected, since they're absorbing the body's shock). I had a lot of meetings to walk between today and believe me, I took my time getting to each one.
My spiffy heart rate watch worked the whole time and it was cool to see where my heart-rate was.
I wish I had a flatter place to run, but there's nowhere to go that isn't a drive. It's almost time to pop some blisters, but for now, check out this kicks man.
I was going to get a pair in black, or at least brown, to attract the least amount of attention possible, but really I like the blue pair the best. I just wouldn't have had the guts to buy the blue ones if they weren't the only pair left. On a related note, I'd like a percentage of any pools that open up to bet on the date I get beat up on account of these.
Prologue
I decided I'd give myself a birthday present.
This is the culmination of many factors.
I've always wanted to.
And so the plan came together.
I've always held a watered down disdain for runners, solely for the fact that I couldn't imagine what they were getting out of running. Running? Really? My feelings could be summed up in a single line from Back to the Future III, spoken by an incredulous drunk native of the 1800's, upon hearing Doc's rambling description of the future. "People run? For fun?"
I've always been a chubby kid. I don't know if I'd say fat, but I remember I got to a certain age and noticed that I was bit more rolly and polly than average. My pants were always called "husky." I had tits. Then came gym class: changing in front of my peers, followed by swimming: no way to hide.
My favorite personal indignity: Boy Scout camp. The showers were a concrete pad, surrounded by walls, cold water only. And like many bathroom sinks they had to be held on. Being homophobic shy young men we avoided to shower and I think at a certain point we were forced to go. Why else would we have all gone together?
The unspoken agreement was everyone showered without removing their underwear. This is how I found everyone my age wore boxers. Everyone except me in white. Tight. Briefs.
That wasn't bad compared to what came from the mouth of a young man who had a learning disorder, the kind of which led him to say whatever observation came to mind, much in the manner of Ralph Wiggum's classic "my cat's breath smells like cat food." We were all soaped and showering, doing our best to avoid eye contact and conversation, when he turned to me and said, almost joyfully, "you look like a sumo wrestler."
Some months ago I'd read an article espousing the benefits of "barefoot" running. I use quotes because it was really about shoes that protect the foot from rocks and such while being as thin as possible to mimic the feel of running barefoot. Apparently thicker sole running shoes are designed to minimize heel impact through padding, though their shape necessitates running on your heels. This, they say, is the cause of many running injuries. The alternative would be to run more "naturally" by taking away heel padding to make it painful to strike hard on the heel. Just like running barefoot.
I'm a very skeptical person, and I don't buy into anything new-age-y easily, frequently, or much at all. I was surprised at how much sense this article made to me, and how much I wanted those shoes just to walk around in. I love walking barefoot, I just hate cuts and broken glass and being thrown out of pretty much any commercial establishment (1) (I've grown fond of service(2)).
I forwarded the article to my friend Tyr who I knew would enjoy it, and that evening he'd purchased a pair. Soon after The Blue Zipper sent me a similar, if not the same article (I can't remember), which I thought was aneat coincidence. Then, some weeks later an author, Christopher McDougall, was on the Daily Show. In the roughest of summaries by memory: he'd been studying an ancient people in Mexico who, when the rest stayed to fight the Conquistadors, fled to safety. They live in the middle of bf nowhere but are now being threatened by drug lords, those sons a bitches. Well, what's notable about these people is that they run a lot, and they're super happy, and they don't have cancer or suicide, nor do they have knee or other running related problems. Also, they may or may not fart rainbows. Why? Because they run barefoot.
Now that's not very scientific, but in lieu of some new-age conspiracy afoot (he he) to plant a bunch of articles and books and such to promote the same product at the same time, I took it as further confirmation and pined again for those shoes. "It's a shame I don't run" I thought.
Also, shame they're so ugly.
At one point in my life, I was in relatively good shape. On and off through the years I've done weightlifting routines. Then, one summer I worked as a "meter exchange ... something", and in the summer months I'd hoof it around changing electric meters while wearing long pants, a t-shirt, a thick long sleeve fire retardant shirt, and pounds of tools. The dude training me was a bit of a, uh, dumbass, and when he went on about how much weight he'd lost and how much I'd loose doing the job I just blew it off as bull.
Three months later I was down from 215 pounds to 180. This was still overweight according to that BMI thingymaboob, but it was good. I could wear a large t-shirt and not feel self conscious. It was the first time since that adolescent doubt first began that I started to feel good about how I looked.
I stayed around that weight for a good few years. Then college ended, unemployment and a 4 hour block of Star Trek on Spike TV set in(3). Somewhere along the way I also learned to cook for myself, which has presented a challenge at times. Fast forward to now. I'm around 225. My pant size has gone from 34 to 38 or 40 (depending on stretchability), and I'm pretty self conscious about my gut. I look like a sausage in a large t-shirt, and I have a lot of cool shirts that don't get any love anymore. Hell, there are two I bought that I love and I've never worn them.
I want to wear them.
Then, a few weeks ago, walking side by side with my lady, I had a moment. I thought, in that moment, (though I was listening to everything you said D. Mistress, I swear), I want to run. It was a calm, serene feeling. I'm gonna do it. I thought.
I found this Couch to 5k program which is scheduled over an 9 week period, and I figured hey, if I start in mid September, I could be ready to run a 5k by my birthday. What a cool birthday present that would be, huh? Start feeling better, start losing some weight, stop feeling like a fancy sausage.
So I bought the shoes.
And I printed out the program.
And I dug my sweats out from the closet.
And I dug my larger pair of sweats out from the closet.
And I set up the cool heart rate monitoring watch I got from woot.com for twenty bucks yeah!
And I opened up the door
and I set off into the sunrise.
(1) This hasn't really happened.
(2) Services and goods.
(3) ...it was worth it.
This is the culmination of many factors.
I've always wanted to.
And so the plan came together.
I've always held a watered down disdain for runners, solely for the fact that I couldn't imagine what they were getting out of running. Running? Really? My feelings could be summed up in a single line from Back to the Future III, spoken by an incredulous drunk native of the 1800's, upon hearing Doc's rambling description of the future. "People run? For fun?"
I've always been a chubby kid. I don't know if I'd say fat, but I remember I got to a certain age and noticed that I was bit more rolly and polly than average. My pants were always called "husky." I had tits. Then came gym class: changing in front of my peers, followed by swimming: no way to hide.
My favorite personal indignity: Boy Scout camp. The showers were a concrete pad, surrounded by walls, cold water only. And like many bathroom sinks they had to be held on. Being homophobic shy young men we avoided to shower and I think at a certain point we were forced to go. Why else would we have all gone together?
The unspoken agreement was everyone showered without removing their underwear. This is how I found everyone my age wore boxers. Everyone except me in white. Tight. Briefs.
That wasn't bad compared to what came from the mouth of a young man who had a learning disorder, the kind of which led him to say whatever observation came to mind, much in the manner of Ralph Wiggum's classic "my cat's breath smells like cat food." We were all soaped and showering, doing our best to avoid eye contact and conversation, when he turned to me and said, almost joyfully, "you look like a sumo wrestler."
Some months ago I'd read an article espousing the benefits of "barefoot" running. I use quotes because it was really about shoes that protect the foot from rocks and such while being as thin as possible to mimic the feel of running barefoot. Apparently thicker sole running shoes are designed to minimize heel impact through padding, though their shape necessitates running on your heels. This, they say, is the cause of many running injuries. The alternative would be to run more "naturally" by taking away heel padding to make it painful to strike hard on the heel. Just like running barefoot.
I'm a very skeptical person, and I don't buy into anything new-age-y easily, frequently, or much at all. I was surprised at how much sense this article made to me, and how much I wanted those shoes just to walk around in. I love walking barefoot, I just hate cuts and broken glass and being thrown out of pretty much any commercial establishment (1) (I've grown fond of service(2)).
I forwarded the article to my friend Tyr who I knew would enjoy it, and that evening he'd purchased a pair. Soon after The Blue Zipper sent me a similar, if not the same article (I can't remember), which I thought was aneat coincidence. Then, some weeks later an author, Christopher McDougall, was on the Daily Show. In the roughest of summaries by memory: he'd been studying an ancient people in Mexico who, when the rest stayed to fight the Conquistadors, fled to safety. They live in the middle of bf nowhere but are now being threatened by drug lords, those sons a bitches. Well, what's notable about these people is that they run a lot, and they're super happy, and they don't have cancer or suicide, nor do they have knee or other running related problems. Also, they may or may not fart rainbows. Why? Because they run barefoot.
Now that's not very scientific, but in lieu of some new-age conspiracy afoot (he he) to plant a bunch of articles and books and such to promote the same product at the same time, I took it as further confirmation and pined again for those shoes. "It's a shame I don't run" I thought.
Also, shame they're so ugly.
At one point in my life, I was in relatively good shape. On and off through the years I've done weightlifting routines. Then, one summer I worked as a "meter exchange ... something", and in the summer months I'd hoof it around changing electric meters while wearing long pants, a t-shirt, a thick long sleeve fire retardant shirt, and pounds of tools. The dude training me was a bit of a, uh, dumbass, and when he went on about how much weight he'd lost and how much I'd loose doing the job I just blew it off as bull.
Three months later I was down from 215 pounds to 180. This was still overweight according to that BMI thingymaboob, but it was good. I could wear a large t-shirt and not feel self conscious. It was the first time since that adolescent doubt first began that I started to feel good about how I looked.
I stayed around that weight for a good few years. Then college ended, unemployment and a 4 hour block of Star Trek on Spike TV set in(3). Somewhere along the way I also learned to cook for myself, which has presented a challenge at times. Fast forward to now. I'm around 225. My pant size has gone from 34 to 38 or 40 (depending on stretchability), and I'm pretty self conscious about my gut. I look like a sausage in a large t-shirt, and I have a lot of cool shirts that don't get any love anymore. Hell, there are two I bought that I love and I've never worn them.
I want to wear them.
Then, a few weeks ago, walking side by side with my lady, I had a moment. I thought, in that moment, (though I was listening to everything you said D. Mistress, I swear), I want to run. It was a calm, serene feeling. I'm gonna do it. I thought.
I found this Couch to 5k program which is scheduled over an 9 week period, and I figured hey, if I start in mid September, I could be ready to run a 5k by my birthday. What a cool birthday present that would be, huh? Start feeling better, start losing some weight, stop feeling like a fancy sausage.
So I bought the shoes.
And I printed out the program.
And I dug my sweats out from the closet.
And I dug my larger pair of sweats out from the closet.
And I set up the cool heart rate monitoring watch I got from woot.com for twenty bucks yeah!
And I opened up the door
and I set off into the sunrise.
(1) This hasn't really happened.
(2) Services and goods.
(3) ...it was worth it.
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