chrysanthemum

59.41

Way back at New Year's, I promised myself that I was going to get serious about running and do at least one 5K race in 2009. I actually started running on January 1, even though it was rainy and I was hung over, because I really seriously meant it this time. I did run a 5K on March 15. I was nervous as a cat, and it was a horrible day, weather-wise: snow, sleet and rain. Disgusting. But I ran it. After that, I promised that I was going to run the annual Beat the Bridge race, which I only even know about because my company is a big sponsor. Turns out that one is 5 miles, not 5 kilometers, but I had promised, so I had to do that too.

I've been training like crazy for the last few weeks, following a program that got me out 4 days a week (most weeks), generally by 5:30 am. I'm not really a morning person, but that's the only time I can reliably squeeze in a run. Makes it hard to blog, though, because I've been too tired to even think once the kids are in bed, let alone write something coherent here.

Anyhow, the race was yesterday, and I was sort of surprised that I wasn't a nervous wreck. We'd sent the kids off on a sleepover at a friends' house, and the morning was positively leisurely. Relaxing, even. Also, it was a beautiful sunny day. Instead of standing at the Start feeling doomed and afraid, I felt confident that I could make it through the race. I didn't expect to be fast (and I wasn't), and I knew that I would walk short distances when I needed to catch my breath, and I felt OK about that. I'm working up from pretty much nothing, after all.

Michael ran with me, and he's a great kick in the pants. He's not one to walk five miles because I'm just not feeling inspired to run at the moment. He's the perfect amount of encouraging and supportive and proud and don't-you-dare-stop-now. The second mile was the hardest, I thought; that's the part where I always want to quit. The fifth mile felt incredibly long. My time was 59.41 minutes. Not fast. Not fast at all, but hey, I scraped in under an hour (there was a point a month or so ago, when I was certain that it was going to take me an hour and a half and I just wanted to call the whole thing off). I'll be faster next time. I just have to pick the next race.

My butt is smaller

I am not fast. I do not look good doing it. I am wearing my grungy old black yoga pants to camouflage any unattractive jiggling, and just today I bought an eye-poppingly ugly sports bra, BUT I am running. Twenty minutes of intervals around the walking path at the local park, three times a week. I've been running for a month now, and honestly, I like it. It hurts, but in a weirdly good way. And truly, my butt and thighs are smaller. Not small, mind you, but smaller. I'm psyched.

E is for enough

Yesterday was the day when I had to go for my yearly check-up. My doctor asked me some pointed questions about my health habits: what am I eating and drinking, how much sleep I get, how much I exercise. I was happy to report that I eat at least four to five servings of fruits and vegetables most days, although I seem to be drinking more coffee than I ever used to, and I'm really just not that interested in giving up sweets. She let me know right away that the 6-7 hours of sleep I'm getting per night means that I'm suffering from chronic sleep deprivation, which is probably making me irritable and hurting my immune system. And she had no trouble pinpointing that even though I am truly not a person with loads of free time, the major thing keeping me from exercising is a lack of motivation. Well, it's not like I didn't already know that. I've never been a particularly active person. I like to read and knit and bake. I like to sit down. And then she asked me to set a health goal for next year. A health goal? On top of my work goals and craft goals and the goal of keeping everybody here fed and happy and feeling loved? What, she wanted to know, would be enough to motivate me to exercise more? I have no idea. Maybe if all the chairs and craft supplies were on the other side of an obstacle course?

So I've been in a little funk since yesterday, asking myself what's enough for me? In order to get 8 hours of sleep each night, I 'd need to be in bed between 9:30 and 10 (thirteen minutes ago), which would give me a smidge more than an hour to make anything, write anything, read anything, and/or spend time with my husband. Or exercise! Yeah, I don't really see that happening for me. What kind of ludicrous suggestion is that anyway? God knows, I love to sleep, but I need to time to do the things I love--more than an hour per day.

And exercise... ick. But, I'm going to try to work in some stair-climbing at the office. I'm going to say three days a week, to start. Two climbs from the 10th floor (where the café is) to the 16th floor (where my desk is), three days per week. That's a start, right? Enough to start. And I'm telling you about it, so now I sort of have to do it.