penguin running

The friend who inspires me to try this running thing sent me looking at pages about "penguin runners."  The term refers to people who are slow runners, basically - people who are working to get fit or to challenge themselves but probably not to win any speed races.  But I enjoy the term because it kind of typifies my own running style.   Penguin.  Feet barely clearing the ground.  Not particularly graceful.  I also enjoy it because penguins are my daughter's favorite animal, so I get a grin every time I think of it.


Following the "penguin" links eventually led me to the C25K stuff.  I suspect I was one of the last human beings on planet earth who hadn't heard of C25K.  The term (in case you are ALSO one of those last few holdouts) means "couch to 5K" and the promise is that this can be achieved within 9 weeks by simply following the schedule.  

5K is about 3 miles; the website I read was pretty relaxed about that.  It basically said shoot for the distance OR shoot for 30 minutes running.  Considering a 10-minute mile was enough to make me feel like I was going to collapse and/or throw up even back in my sophomore year when I was the much skinnier girl who could do all that stuff from my recent "used to could" list, I like the latitude in choosing the time rather than the distance.  It's a penguin runner thing, I guess...one of the things I appreciated about the penguin forums I read was all the people whose mile time is more like 16 minutes. 


Since what I am aiming for is loving my body by getting it into a healthy condition, I could care less about whether I actually go the official distance.  30 minutes of exercise, on the other hand, is a concrete measure of adequate exercise.  This, I can do.


My plan of walking 3 minutes, running 1, and repeating etc. segues well into the C25K plan.  This week I am walking 90 seconds and running 60.  These times are loosely defined as I am counting in my head rather than clock-watching.  But I can feel progress happening already in my body - I am less out of breath during/after the running parts than I was last week.  Also, getting out of bed is easier; my body has decided to daily beat the 5:30 alarm by 10-12 minutes, which means I'm about 3 minutes from walking out the door when my wake-up alarm finally starts going. 


Progress in a week:  just another reason to be amazed by this machine/gift that is my body. 

segways and mean words

A flier in the elevator where I live announces a raffle for a Segway tour.  I've seen these little troops tooling around downtown and it looks like fun.  I thought about buying a raffle ticket.  

But then the dreaded scene went flashing across my mind:  I show up with ticket in hand, and the tour guide looks me up and down awkwardly.  I cringe as he tries to find the words to tell me I probably exceed the weight limit for this tour.  I am Karen Swank, Who Can Google Anything.  Going to my handy dandy search bar, I key in "heavy people ride Segway."  There, I read varying takes on the limits - enough to prevent me from asking for a ride.  It might be okay, but I might encounter a guide who thinks I'm over the limit.  Uhhh...no thanks.  Not really in the mood to volunteer for a kick in the self-esteem.

Amidst my reading, someone comments, "I am not going to say 'overweight' because that is a false word.  The truth is FAT.  FAT people should not ride Segways."  Ahhh.  Pleasant.  Hope that writer doesn't have anything he's ashamed of that can be called a nasty name.

"Overweight" is a false word?  Huh?!  It's just a non-judgmental word.  An accurate measurement without the sucker punch included.  "Fat," at least here in the States (Europe is a whole other story, and I'm not telling that story today), is a word filled with judgment, contempt, ridicule...hate. 

This journey of letting God teach me to love my body is definitely including a long, strong look at language.  I have thought I was just being "real" when I've called myself a "fat lady."  And now I look and see that I would never exercise that kind of "realism" on another person. 

Words have power.  When the word "cankles" came into style and I heard it continually rolling off the lips of "pretty" people...that was the passage when I stopped wearing shorts.  I had hated my legs since I was 12 years old, but had kept on wearing shorts, despite some discomfort.  Then the vicious pleasure of people throwing that new term around sent me running for cover.  Pants, long skirts, anything to hide 'em.  No showing of the cankles.  No opening myself up for ridicule. 

When someone absolutely beautiful inside and out calls herself "shamu," I shudder.  I understand the place of feeling and saying it, but...if she'd use THAT name on herself, how much worse must be the name she'd choose for me?!  And yet, knowing her, I know she'd never be so nasty to me.  Then I realize that I've been glibly calling myself the fat lady, thereby condemning any and all of my readers who are at or above my weight.  I mean, I wasn't trying to call THEM that.  I was just trying to say how I feel about ME.  But as I go around assaulting myself with hate words...those arrows are hitting others, too. 

A really great lady recently told me that she is disgusted by her body (and thus expects everyone else to find it disgusting as well).  I get that.  I've spent years upon years feeling that.  Another wonderful friend is sometimes known to hold a pillow up by her face when talking on the couch, to hide her double chin.  I get that.  I've been playing the "how to hide it" game for way too long. 

The fun thing about running where God leads me as I ask Him to teach me to love my body:  He is not FOR ONE SECOND saying I'll need to first get it in shape...worthy of being loved, if you will.  

He is teaching me to treat it well - to choose love via action.  What I eat, how I move, when I give it extra care.

He is teaching me to notice its accomplishments and progress, and celebrate them.

He is teaching me to speak well of it, and to quickly separate myself from any abusive words I or someone else might throw at it.

He is teaching me to be comfortable in it, just as it is...no need to hide.

And not as a target or goal, but as fruit of these things...I am coming to a place of the FEELING of loving it, too.  

Which serves well to increase my excitement in all the things He is teaching me even more. 

Seems like God's pretty smart, eh?

she stands...she pedals...the crowd goes wild!!

Physical feats I "used to could" do but haven't been able to manage in many a long year:

• climb over/cross a woven-wire fence with 2 strands of barbed wire at the top, at a fencepost or even between posts
• toss many bales of hay up from the ground to the rack
• easily stick my foot in the stirrup and swing myself up onto a horse, even if the horse was moving
• swing myself up onto a horse without a saddle, from the ground, without standing on anything
• ride a high-strung horse bareback at a full-out run, letting my feet hang without touching the horse's sides
• perform in a pom-squad kick-line, swinging my foot repeatedly in a controlled way all the way up to face-level
• bounce while going up and down stairs

Yeah, you could say once upon a time I kinda had it goin' on.  Didn't really matter, though, in some ways, because even then I thought I was so appallingly enormous that I owed the world an apology for having to look at me, all because I didn't match the models in the slick magazines and those dumb charts in the doctor's office said I was WAY overweight.  But I digress.

Meet Lulu, the object of my middle-age affection.  I don't think I've introduced her before on this blog, though she's been kind of a rock star on my other one.  Pink swirlys all up and down her sides, her name so pretty for all to see, comfortable, durable, knockout whitewalls that make ya wanna whistle...yeah, she's the shizzle.  


Today I accomplished something on Lulu that I hadn't been able to do since I was a kid:  I stood up while pedaling her.  If that sounds like no biggie to you, then you really have no concept at all of the level of lack of fitness I'm fighting my way out of.  I have tried periodically ever since I got her to stand up on the pedals, and just couldn't manage it...the best I could do was a kind of shifting on the seat.  


Today, though, I not only stood on the pedals, I PEDALED from a standing position.  This is a big fat deal.  It's a mark of progress in my strength, my agility, and my confidence.  It surprised me.  It made me jubilant...so much so that when I got to the bike path, I ran her harder and faster than ever before.  We set new speed records for us, though we still are not doing anything like keeping up with all those bike-short clad skinny people rolling by us, hardly seeming to try at all.  We took some much-sharper-than-usual turns, and didn't tip over.  We cut through a grassy section just to see if I could maneuver her in a kind of tight spot between signs and poles, and it wasn't even hard.  

Tonight I'm feeling accomplished and hopeful.  Fitness is within my grasp.  Fitness is a way to choose to love my body.  Me choosing is just a part of the equation - the stuff God is doing in me is WAY more exciting - but tonight, I'm kinda bubbling over on this front.  

Just for kicks, here are some other views from today's ride.

wondering how to step lighter

Chose some new colors and background and such, as I learned the old format wasn't eye-friendly to all.  It feels appropriate to change the look of the blog anyway, as I really feel like I am in many ways being "created anew" on a whole other scale than usual lately.  For the record:  I like it.

The morning was gorgeous today, a welcome relief after yesterday's cold wind and rain.  I started running sooner...felt almost enthusiastic about getting to it. 


I'm surprised at how fast some things get better, as I pay attention.  For example, my first morning out, all I could notice when I ran was how heavy I am on my feet.  I could feel every single pound of me hammering down onto the pavement at every step (I move to the gravelly side of the path wherever puddles don't prevent that...seems gentler on my knees and feet).  Not pretty.  Had to hang onto the goal:  learning to love my body, not pour out contempt on me because of its current condition.  Don't focus on the heaviness of the steps, just be glad I am out there.


The second morning was when my clock got stuck and I did that stretch of untimed running...and got a taste of letting loose a bit.  Still BAM BAM BAM on my feet but...more like motion and less like pushing at inertia with all my might.  


This morning (4th day, 3rd run), I was MUCH faster (uhh...still very slow compared to the rest of everyone out there, but much faster as compared to the only one that counts for me, which is ME).  How can that be already?  I am mystified.  Happy, but confused. 


If anyone out there can give me any tips about how to run more lightly, I'd welcome them.  Maybe there just has to be fewer pounds of me to step more lightly, but I suspect that's not the case.  I remember a friend who had athletic girls saying their dad taught them to "run on their toes"...I can't even wrap my mind around that.  


Nonetheless, I am having fun.  Glad to be doing this.

rained...nope...BLOWN out

Yesterday, morning three of this run/walk thing was really good.  I had to leave early for work, so I couldn't write about it.  My response to the stopped-clock phenomenon from the day before was:  I watch the clock a bit as I walk...enough to know when it's time to run.  When I run, I just count off 60 seconds and don't look at my phone at all.  It's not as precise, but it seems to let me run more freely and in a less burdened, get-this-over way. 

I went to bed last night amidst a rain storm, deciding ahead of time that rain was not going to keep me inside.  I can get a little wet...I won't die from that.  Got up this morning still hearing rain noise; got ready and out the door.  Raining steadily.  No problem.

On the other hand...Chicago wind.  OY.  Frozen, blustery, gusting, slamming into me in a way that felt like it might knock me down, blowing through my clothes, hammering the rain into me fast and hard, did I mention FROZEN?  I made it almost to the corner before I turned around and hustled home.  

I could have done stairs for 20 minutes when I got home, I suppose. I thought about it.  But stairs, even with walking the halls in between flights, gets really, really intense for me really quickly.  Just wasn't feeling the gumption to do them for 20 minutes, in my soaked clothes no less.  I did my six flights to get to my room, and retreated to the warm bed (sweating and out of breath).  

Not much of a victory story, I guess.  Except that I DID get up and get out and try, and even got my blood pumping a bit.  

And tomorrow is another day.

when time doesn't exactly stand still

Morning 2:  wasn't tempted to hit snooze.  Up and out, and the morning was once again beautiful.  

Somewhere around the halfway mark, my phone decided to freeze and not change time.  I was walking, waiting for it to flip so I could run for my one minute increment, and it didn't change....didn't change...didn't change...until I just KNEW it couldn't really STILL be that time.  Difficulty:  my brain was still not fully awake.  Problem solving in semi-sleep mode...hmmmm. 

So what I did was stop looking at the phone and start counting in my head.  Amidst the confusion of figuring it out, I stayed out 10 extra minutes.  I'm not objecting to 10 extra minutes of exercise...heaven knows I need it.  I'm just not willing to cut that chunk out of my quiet time.  So I was in kind of a hurry.  

A good result that came from all of this:  at one point I just stopped trying to count and tried running as far as I could without stopping.  It wasn't very far.  I don't even know if it was as long as my counted one minute increments.  But the difference was, when not looking at the phone, I loosened up.  I felt my back moving more freely.  My stride got longer.  I was closer to having fun and not so much waiting on pins and needles for the clock to let me break back down to a walk.

Will pray today about what to do with that information.  Maybe I need to stop timing so carefully and just alternate walking and running?  I'm just not sure I trust myself not to get lazy...hmmmm.

Meanwhile, the extra time made me enough more tired/weaker feeling that I had to walk the halls between EVERY SINGLE FLOOR when doing the stairs up to the 6th floor.

Doesn't matter.  I didn't ride the elevator.  So I'm counting that as a victory.

...annnnnd she's off!

Sometimes I am amazed at my resistance to change, and how predictable that can be.

Last night I laid out my new walking/running clothes, knowing that if they weren't all ready to go, that would be my excuse for not going this morning. With my brain at half-mast, it doesn't take much talking to persuade me to stay in bed. So I got it all out: outfit, shoes, water backpack thingy. I set the alarm for the horrifying hour of 5:30. The thing is, I already have a morning quiet time which is a non-negotiable in my life; anything I do in the morning has to be “in addition to” and not “instead of.” Starting at 5:30 will still mean cutting into some of that quiet time, but I think it's a compromise that should work.

Per usual lately, I stayed up kind of late and then didn't sleep very well due to leg pain. I'm beginning to think leg pain is not going to go away for more than a few nights at a time. So 5:30 felt beastly when the alarm went off. I hit snooze. I listened, half asleep, to the noise coming in the window. Per usual, all I could hear was the rush of cars on Lake Shore Drive. No way to tell if rain was mingled in with that or not. My half-asleep brain said I shouldn't chance it, and should stay in bed.

So when the second alarm went off a couple of minutes later, I hit snooze again. I laid there a minute, arguing with myself, and finally decided I would just go to the window and look out. Mind you, nothing can be told about outdoors by looking out my window (which just stares at a nearby wall), but my morning brain wasn't smart enough to remember that, and thus was tricked into getting up. Once I was up, it wasn't so hard to brush my teeth, put up the pony tail, pull on clothes, stretch a bit, and hustle out the door before I could change my mind. I was on the sidewalk by 5:52.

Thus begins my new walking/running routine. The morning is gorgeous. I was glad to be out in it as soon as I cleared the doorway. Here's what I did today:

Walked to the Lake (took I think 6 minutes), picking up speed and lengthening strides as I went.

Walked 3 minutes. Jogged 1 minute.

Walked 3 minutes. Jogged 1 minute.

Walked 3 minutes. Jogged 1 minute.

Turned back toward home.

Walked 3 minutes. Jogged 1 minute.

Walked 3 minutes. Jogged 1 minute.

Walked back to the house (took I think 5 minutes.)

Used the stairs to get back up to my room. Stairs (the first set seem to be a story and a half, at which my mind always protests), 2^nd story hall, more stairs, 4^th story hall, and then stairs up to my 6^th floor room. Having tried this tactic yesterday, I knew the lady who told me about it was right...getting off to walk the hall every few floors makes the 6 stories much more do-able.

Showered, letting my hair dry while I do my blog and quiet time (and of course the internet doesn't seem to be working, so I'm guessing this is getting posted later today.)

Hey, I'm started! YAY! It might seem like a small beginning, but I'm trying to do this in a way that is sustainable, and starting in a blaze of glory has generally always ended for me in quitting. Let's see how this goes. Meanwhile, I gotta focus: this is still about following God along the path of learning to love my body. Gotta avoid falling into the “rah, rah, rah” self-motivation plan.

Gotta let Him drive.