Resolute

I hate making New Year's resolutions. Have I said that before? Yeah, I have.

I make loose resolutions with plenty of wiggle room included. This helps to keep me from failing. This year, as in the past, I don't care about loosing weight. I would be nice, but whatever.

This year, I want to me more ACTIVE.

(So, though I don't necessarily care about the weight thing, this should be a nice side effect.)

So along that line of thought, we signed up for the local Road Runners club. Well, Matt signed up- but I didn't argue. AND I whole hearted agreed to participate.

On January 1st, I ran my first mile in three years. Wait, let me clarify, I power walked up a hill and then ran most of the way down it, which in my mind is better than just running the 1 mile. Plus, I didn't hurt myself like I did last time.

And you know what? It was OK.
And you know what else? I'm going to do it again. Soon.

But you know what I won't be doing anytime soon? This. So don't even ask. It's not even on the radar.

And we will be an active family. That is resolute.

The Running of the Reindeer

Well, my 1st 5K has come and gone. It was.... interesting. It was both better and worse than I ever imagined.

Better: I actually ran. The most I have ever run in my life. Granted it was downhill, but that was by Matt's instruction. "If you are tired, which you will be, run all the downhill, try on the flats and walk the uphill." Well, there was a lot more downhill than uphill. So I did OK.

Worse: My knees still hurt from running so much.

Better: We got a lot of random support from the reindeer antlers that Jen bought us to wear. Unexpected encouragement was great!

Worse: Because of all the extra attention, our picture was taken a million times. Who would have thought that I needed to be worried about what I looked like. Uncombed hair. Unflattering clothing. A jacket that adds about 30lbs to my midsection. Wonderful.

Better: We ran the 3.1 miles in 46 minutes and 22 seconds. No, 15 minute miles aren't the greatest time in the world, but I did it. I didn't quit.

Worse: I wanted to quit. About 3/4 of the way up the giant hill. My feet felt like cement blocks. I told Jen I felt like Frankenstein and that I was glad I didn't have my cell phone because I might call him to come get me. She in turn cheered me on, motivated me to keep moving and to jog again shortly after. For that I will love you forever Jen!

Better: I was a realist and signed up for the race as a walker. They did not list the walker times on the finisher list. However, the last runner came in at 45:15. In my mind this means that we were one of the first 'walkers' to come in. Hurray! We're number .... 50-ish??

The big question, will I do this again? I really don't know. I want to keep doing something, and while - NO JEN - I don't want to do a 5K with you every month, this does seem like a good way to stay active.

So there we are. To wog or not to wog.

Wogging Hurts, Part II

I wogged again this morning.

It sucked much more than last week. In fact, it was the direct opposite of last week. I felt good about myself last week. Until the pain set in the next day, I wanted to do it again. I was optimistic.

This week... is a different story.

I know we jogged a lot more than last week. And it was colder. Much, much colder. Still, I don't understand the direct contrast. I wanted to yack at the end of this weeks wog. I wanted to lay down on the frosty grass and take a nap. I wanted to die.

Matt keeps telling me that running is never fun. He says that he's gotten to the point where he at time enjoys the solitude of it, but that he NEVER enjoys the act of running itself.

Why am I doing this? WHY AM I DOING THIS!!??

I don't think I have ever run a day in my life. Not even high school. Come to think of it, I wogged back then too. In the mandatory gym class laps, I would run the straight and walk the curve of the track. I never ran the whole thing. Ever.

I keep telling myself that the more I do it, the easier it will get. Wasn't it supposed to be easier today?

As I said last week, I will do the 5K on Saturday. I will jog at least part of it. I will relish the silliness of the reindeer antlers Jen bought us to wear. And I hope, I hope, I hope I get caught up in the pack driven mania of the race. I am praying for race version of 'hive mind' to help propel me forward to complete this thing with dignity.

Some joy would be nice too. Just saying.

Wogging Hurts

Sometime ago Matt tricked me into signing up for a 5K.

Yeah, you heard me. He tricked me and that is the story I’m sticking with.

It was surrounded by all this discussion about how I really want to / need to shed a few pounds and I can’t seem to drastically alter my eating / drinking habits, so exercise is in order.

Well, that was quite a few moons ago and I have been ignoring this looming 3.1 mile walk / wog / jog. Definitely not a run.

Anyhow, my only goal with this is to do it. To finish. Frankly, I really don’t care if I walk the entire thing. A little jogging would be nice though.

So yesterday, Jen and I went for a 2.8 mile wog around the lake. I think it went well. I did a lot better than I thought I would, and actually could have pushed harder if we hadn’t gotten so chatty on the back side of the lake.

What’s my complaint then?

I felt like SheRa yesterday and now I feel like hamburger today.

I had no idea how sore muscles I didn’t even know existed could get. We will do it again next weekend and hopefully I will get my butt on our elliptical machine this week to help combat my body’s rejection of exercise.

Wish me luck.