Being quite disgusted with my ambivalence and laziness of last week, I have vowed to stick with my training plan, even if it means curtailing my social (erm, drinking) schedule. The weekly pattern of this plan is: Monday mornings core, strength and stability at the gym; Tuesdays run; Wednesday hill or speed workout; Thursdays more morning CSS at the gym plus evening run; Friday rest; Saturday half-distance or pace run; and Sunday my “long” run. Given that my goal race is a half-marathon, none of my “long” runs will really qualify as long to me (16 miles or longer. Yes I am a hardass). I would have liked to have included over-distance training in the cycle; adding a 14- and a 15-miler to my training would have made me felt better about endurance. Alas, my current level of fitness will not allow that mileage ramp. It’s okay–my new mantra has become I’m only thirty-six! Plenty of time still to set new PRs and qualify for pesky Boston.
The last time I went to the gym was Monday, July 6th, and I went after work because I stayed up too late on the 6th. I love my gym in the morning. It’s sparsely populated by a familiar assortment of middle-aged fitness dorks, awkward chicks (me chief among), and a few really sweaty, chubby dudes whose thighs rub together when they walk on the treadmill. I am comfortable with this crowd; they are my people. Add 12 hours to the clock, though, and the vibe completely changes from “Free to Be You and Me” to “We Wears Short Shorts.” Criminey! I showed up with my running shorts, baggy t-shirt, pigtails and theraband and was frightened by these fierce women, who were gritting their teeth with a determination fueled by the amount they’ve paid for their summer share in the Hamptons. Nevertheless, I was there to do a workout and so I struggled through my planks, leg lifts, Bosu ball squats and exercise ball push-up crunch thingies. I sweat a lot; I probably grunted, I definitely panted out whew! once or twice, while these other chicks in their spandex shorts and strappy tank tops effortlessly glided through reps of hand weights and plyometric lunges. Me: klutzy elephant. Them: nymphs of steel. I vowed never again to show my face in the gym after 8:30 AM.
Yesterday’s workout, on the other hand, took place in a No-Insecurity Zone. I was the only person in the exercise room for most of my routine, allowing me to mutter to myself as I unselfconsciously went through my crunches, kicks and planks (am up to 60 seconds x 3). Much more enjoyable! Of course, I knew as soon as I was done that laughing would hurt for the next two days, but I welcomed the pain–better that than the pain of embarrassment! (Or worse: the pain or re-injury.)