Breaking In the New Shoes and Old Legs

There's mud on them there shoes - from running!

Yesterday, I finally worked up enough courage to lace up the new shoes on my feet and go for a run. It took me all day to gather my motivation and determination. And I did it. I did it a couple of hours after I got home from the office.

I did some stretching and then walked briskly to the park near me. By that time, it was dusk and there was a lone teenager who acted like he was desperately trying to hook up with his drug dealer. After I managed my first round of walking then running, he gave up and buggered off, leaving me to huff in peace.

Dave worked out my running schedule for me. It's a very gentle schedule. The idea is that I walk a minute, run a minute and do 10 rounds of each. Then next week, I increase the running, decrease the walking and again the week after, and so on until New Years' Day, when I will be running for 30 minutes non-stop. Or at least that's the general idea.

The first lot was a peace of cake, the second lot I started to slow down and the third was a bloody nightmare. I walked for another minute and I couldn't do another set of running. My shins were hurting with each step. I listened to my body and headed back to the flat.

I'd hoped to be able to do more than I did. But there you go. This is the reality of the situation that can't be argued with: this is my starting point. 

But the fact of the matter is, I still ran more than I did the day before! I actually got off my chair and went running. Me. The person whose favourite position is horizontal. The person who used to say that running was an evolutionary response to a charging mammoth. That's right. Yesterday, I ran.

Today, my shins hurt. I don't think I warmed up enough. I've been trawling through running apps to see if I can find one that does a video tutorial to lead me through the right warm up. All I've done is confused myself thoroughly. Besides, I like Dave's schedule. Even if he's going to have to re-calculate it to take into account the low starting point.

I've been thinking about fitness and health quite a lot recently, testing my motivation. I don't want to be unfit anymore. I don't want to feel flabby. I don't want to feel out of breath when I do things. In a year's time, I want to be working out at least half and hour every day doing something that moves me and gets my heart rate up: swimming, aerobics, running, cycling, dancing. Something that's fun to do. Something I can do by myself or with other people. 

I know people who've done the exercise fad. They said they would loose weight, get fit and managed it for 2 months tops. A year later they're actually worse off physically and emotionally than they were before they tried. It's almost as if the fact that they failed at this meant they failed at everything else. Next year, I want to be even stronger. 

Today, I've rested. Yes, I could push it, but I don't want to. I want to do this and enjoy the journey. In this, I suppose I'm lucky - I don't have an immediate medical condition that requires a huge amount of weight loss quickly. Therefore, I'm going to move a little more every week, eat a little more healthily, have a little more fun.

Seems to me that's a good schedule for a bloody good life.